


Grounding Magic A-T

by NotVampireJasper



Series: Grounding Magic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Harry Potter, Disability, Dogs, Familiars, Fix-It of Sorts, Food, Gen, Gender Issues, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Prankster Harry Potter, Pre-Hogwarts, Snakes, Some Swearing, Wandless Magic, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter), marriage issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 39,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotVampireJasper/pseuds/NotVampireJasper
Summary: Last time Harry was lead around by his nose. Only seeing what others wanted him to, only doing what others wanted to. Everyone had their own agenda, and it eventually got them all killed. Except Harry, who couldn't die thanks to accidentally becoming the master of death in his teens. Now he's back. A new timeline, a whole new world of opportunity. He'll save the world, but not by following anyone's script for him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody. It’s been too long since I’ve posted anything. I’ve been working on my other fics, but nothing’s finished yet. So, instead I’m posting something else. It’s a time travel, Harry is a bamf, sort of fic. Kind of self-indulgent. A way of exploring some ideas I’ve had about wizarding culture, some of which are increasingly unlikely but still fun to explore. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Does anyone still do disclaimers? Or is it just (correctly) assumed that I don’t own Harry Potter?

It was the middle of the night in Britain. Dark clouds filled the sky and rain fell in sheets. In a small suburb not too dissimilar to any other there was a group of streets which catered to upper-middle class citizens. Their homes had all been built around the same time, and in very much the same style. The gardens too, were all very similar. Neatly trimmed lawns, paved driveways for their personal and family vehicles, and possibly a bright smattering of flowers inside a flower bed if there were any flower beds in the garden. In this place beauty and worth were found in conformity. Beyond the similarities of the places they inhabited, most of the people living here were similar in other ways too. They were typically white, and if they weren’t too old then there would be between one and three children belonging to a man and a woman, who were married of course. The men worked office jobs mostly, from nine to five every weekday. Most of the women stayed at home or worked part-time so they could still look after the house and any children. Most of the families followed some denomination of Christianity or were quietly atheist. There were few exceptions to this. 

One of those exceptions was the Dursley family at number four Privet Drive, much to their disappointment and disgust. For you see, the Dursleys had made a lot of effort to meet the standards and expectations of their neighbours. The house fitted, both from the outside and from the inside where Petunia Dursley had painstakingly chosen the décor to show both her husband’s wealth and how well her family fitted into Little Whinging’s demographic. The garden was nearly immaculate; only some of the flowers weren’t thriving as much as they should. Vernon Dursley worked a respectable job as a manager at a drill company, and Petunia was a housewife. They had a son Dudley, who fitted in too and was close friends with some of the other boys on the street. They were white, wealthy, and well respected. If that were the end of their story, they would have meshed with their neighbours perfectly. Of course, there was more to the Dursleys than that. No matter how much Petunia and Vernon had wished to hide it. They had a nephew named Harry. Harry was only six weeks younger than their son, and he had been orphaned since he was 15 months old. 

Harry’s existence helped put the Dursleys outside the range of “normal” in their area. They hated him for it. 

On this night though, things were about to change. Lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the four-year-old boy living in the cupboard under the stairs opened his eyes. Bright green eyes which darted around as he mapped out the space he was in. His youthful features pulled into a delighted smile. 

“I’m baaaaaaaaaaaaaack.” He sang softly to himself.


	2. R is for Redecorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, the way I’ve done this is I wrote down the first 20 letters of the alphabet, and from each letter I chose a word that serves as my prompt for a chapter. I’ll be posting these in chronological order, and I hope to have finished and posted all 20 prompts by the end of October.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Harry swears a bit. Also, the Dursleys are clearly abusive in this story. You've been warned.

In truth, sending his memories and soul into the past had been a well calculated decision. Things had gone… badly in the future past he had come from, to put it mildly. He had changed a lot from the neglected and lost boy who had first entered Hogwarts at age eleven. He was much more practical and proactive now. This coupled with the many months spent planning what he would do if his spell worked left him with little patience remaining. And the absolute certainty that if he spent a minute longer in the cupboard than what he had to, he was going to murder someone. 

He clicked his fingers and the light bulb lit up. It was time to get moving. It was a cold night, so he needed extra layers. He pulled on a jumper, and then another. Even with both jumpers on the material was still lose on him. He then added an extra pair of socks. He wouldn’t be coming back here so he had to take everything that he wanted to keep or use with him. So, the other clothes and his (ex-Dudley) shoes were shoved into a bag. The toy soldiers followed, because Harry held a slight attachment for them. He opened the cupboard door, turned off the light, and walked out. His lumpy mattress, bedding, and bag full of clothes followed. It was a good thing his magic had stayed with him through his jump. 

He walked into the kitchen next and things from the pantry, the drawers, and the benchtops hopped down and followed him. There was cutlery, crockery, a pair of scissors, a chopping board, a box of matches, a large candle, salt and pepper shakers, two bottles of water, and a selection of foods. 

They made very little noise as they claimed the stairs together, but just to be safe Harry coiled his magic around his body. He was ready to defend himself if need be. His new room was going to be Dudley’s spare one. Only this time, he was going to make it his and keep the Dursleys out of it. There were no locks on the door, nor was there a cat flap. Harry opened it with ease, and his things all rushed into the room, so he could close the door. Once again Harry used magic to turn on the lights. He was looking forward to when he got tall enough to reach the switch. He gazed around the room. 

It was just as he remembered it in many ways. The mustard coloured carpet, the bare walls, and all the toys and junk that Dudley had dumped into the room. Not as much as last time, but then again Dudley was only four years old currently. The light fixture was noticeably newer, and the only furniture in the room was the broken wardrobe. Dudley had yet to break his bed. 

First thing he had to do was secure the room, and it appeared that Dudley had provided him all the tools he needed to do so. Apparently, Petunia had gone through a phase believing that Dudley was going to be the next Monet. There were stacks of unused and unopened art supplies in here that were meant for children. Harry nearly laughed out loud at the idea that Dudley would ever become a great artist. You only had to look at his parents to know that creativity in any form was not something they were going to encourage. Dudley had nearly made their art teacher cry once in primary; that’s how bad he is at art. 

Harry grabbed a pot of blue paint and opened it. It was still fresh. He then spat as much saliva into the pot as he could and mixed it in with a paint brush. Saliva wasn’t a good conductor of magic compared to other bodily fluids. Blood would be much more effective, but Harry was only warding the room temporarily as he intended to make something out of much stronger material later. Something carved on wood most likely. 

Onto the door he painted a series of connected runes. Runes that would obscure the detection of any magic he was performing inside the room, runes that muffled any noise coming from inside the room, runes that locked the door so that only he could open it, runes that strengthened the door, and finally, runes that would cause anyone with malicious intent to become distracted and forget about the room. He then repeated the runes on the window. From the centre of the room he activated both sets of runes simultaneously so that they would feed off each other and keep each other more stable. 

He then took a break to eat. Using magic did use up energy, and from what he could feel his younger self had done something to lose the “privilege” of dinner earlier.   
Much as he wanted to get started on remodelling the place there was very little he could do until he got his hands on some supplies. It took a lot of power and skill to make a detailed transfiguration permanent, and Harry simply didn’t meet those requirements without the use of a well-tuned wand. His transfiguration skills are adequate but limited even with a wand. Instead he got to work sorting through the contents of the room. The wardrobe was easy; he was keeping that. The broken shelf would be easy to replace, and the busted leg wouldn’t be hard to fix. He was keeping all the art supplies. There was a whole tone of board games in here which Harry threw out. The only exceptions were “Operation” because it can be a single player game, and “Twister” because with magic he could make It work. He had to have some form of entertainment. 

The unwanted games were sent out the door and they walked themselves down the stairs and into the living room. 

There had been many books in the room. Unfortunately, they were all designed for young children. Nursery books (Harry refused point blank), picture books (Dudley had drawn in these), and a collection of fairy tales-

What, wait?

Harry stared. They were still wrapped in plastic. They had never been touched, never mind read. Someone must have gifted them to Dudley, not knowing how much his parents hate and fear magic. So, Petunia must have shoved them into the wardrobe, not wanting to be rude by throwing them out. Harry had to keep them then, didn’t he? It was the principle of the matter. The unwanted books shuffled out of the room while those he wanted were placed in the corner. 

Last was the clothes and blankets. The clothes he found were stored in boxes. They were clearly Dudley’s baby clothes. He sent the boxes down the stairs and over into the laundry without a pause. The blankets he immediately decided to keep. They were in much better condition than any of his other bedding. He dumped the blue one onto his mattress, then the red one, and the cream one. The last blanket was a pale green one that he didn’t recognise. That was strange. He’d seen the others all before, even though he’d never been allowed to use them until they got so old that holes were starting to appear. He turned the blanket over. It was pale green in the centre, with a darker green trim around the edge. In the corner was some letters were stitched in very neatly. He leaned in closer so that he could read them. 

“HP” 

His initials. Then he realised that this must have been his baby blanket. It was literally what he had come wrapped in on that Samhain night so long ago. It was something his parents had touched. Something that Petunia had kept hidden from him and thrown away at some point. She’d let Dudley use it though. It smelled strongly of the laundry detergent that she used, which it would only do so if she had washed it recently, and it was too small for an adult to use. 

“That bitch.” He hissed out, his anger so acute that he nearly slipped out of English. 

The Dursleys’ might not have beaten him like Snape’s father had done to him, and they had never outright starved him, but they had taken their neglect and actions towards him and turned it into out right mind fuckery and psychological abuse. 

He would get even later. Right now, he needed to remain anonymous, and that meant staying at Privet Drive for the foreseeable future. Both she and her husband would pay for their actions though, and Dudley would have to learn to keep his distance. 

With a snap of his fingers he vanished the carpet. He removed the extra layers of clothes and curled up in his blankets on his mattress. Tomorrow was going to be a big day and he needed to get his rest. The light flickered out with a thought.

* * *

The next morning was very entertaining for Harry. He could hear the shock and outrage of his relatives, followed by the sounds of confusion when none of them could so much as touch his door. Dudley threw a tantrum about wanting to get into his second room but there was nothing his parents could do about it. 

Harry drank some water, ate an apple, and consumed handfuls of cereal while he listened to all this happening within the house. He got dressed very carefully, choosing his nicest and best fitting clothes. He didn’t want to attract extra attention today. He even took a rag, dipped it in water, and washed his face and hands with it. 

Then with his back straight and a smirk on his lips, he opened the door and waited. Sure enough, Vernon spotted him first and bellowed his rage. 

“Boy! What have you done this time!?” Vernon came storming towards him as he yelled this. Perfect. 

“Imperio,” Harry said confidently. His runes worked to keep any magic being cast hidden from outside detection, but that meant he had to get Vernon into the room to get him with a spell. It was something he would have to fix later. 

Vernon stopped almost immediately, and his eyes glazed over. 

“We’re going shopping today Uncle Vernon.”

* * *

Several hours later he returned to Privet Drive with Vernon. They had spent quite a bit of money together, although Harry was careful to only buy the necessities at this stage. Harry was very conscientious about spending money. Too much of a deviation from the norm and other people might start questioning things. The last thing he needed was for someone from whatever bank Vernon used calling up to ask questions. 

The Christmas sales had started though, so nearly everything was on sale which made the trip cheaper. 

They had started at the hardware store because Harry had many things he needed to get and knew that this store would take the longest. First, he went looking for building supplies. Glue, sealant, wood polish, lacquer, nails and screws, and wooden planks. That last item would need to be delivered as it wouldn’t fit into Vernon’s car, but that was okay. He didn’t need to worry about tools because Vernon already had plenty of good quality ones in the garage which he kept mostly for show. Second, was all the painting supplies he needed. He ended up with eleven different colours of paint because he had ideas about what to do in his new room, as well as new brushes in a variety of sizes. 

They walked all over for the next two hours. Harry had a few ideas about what he wanted but was happy to window shop for the first time in forever. What was equally enjoyable was having Vernon on his best behaviour. He smiled at shop keepers, was polite to all the assistants. They even came across a family they recognised. Or part of one at least. Mr Crawford and his children Aaron, Peter, and Sarah. Harry then had Vernon praise him in front of them. 

The Crawfords are a Catholic family who live on Wisteria Walk, which runs parallel to Privet Drive. The Dursleys (and Harry) would not be familiar with them if it weren’t for their daughter Sarah, who happens to be the same age as Harry and Dudley. She’d gone to school with them both and been in the same class on occasion. 

Sarah also happened to have two older, sporty brothers. They’d never allowed Dudley and his gang to touch their sister, so Harry had often been safe to sit close to her in class.   
The encounter was brief, but highly satisfying. 

Harry and Vernon then picked up a curtain rail, a clothes hamper, and a small mirror from a place selling kitchen and bathroom things. They visited a fancy (well, fancier than he’d ever been shopped for in) toy shop and Harry chose a children’s kitchen set. With a bit of magic, he’d be able to get the taps, the sink, the hot plates, and the oven to work properly. He should even be able to get the cupboard below the sink to work like a fridge if he was clever with it. They stopped by a clothing store and Harry bought himself shoes that fitted him and a raincoat. Coat hangers and a child sized plastic chair were purchased from a discount store. Harry bought and ordered himself a bed and a mattress from another place. A place that sold rugs had this enormous pink and grey fluffy thing that he had to buy and get delivered. A craft shop had followed. Harry had bought himself a sewing kit, material for a few curtains, and rings to hang the curtain from. All in the space of two hours. Harry was very happy with how productive they had been. 

They stopped at a café for lunch at that point. Harry ate the biggest chicken salad sandwich he could find as well as a glass of orange juice. He’d let Vernon order whatever he wanted as he had been feeling generous. 

Last of all, he pulled Vernon into Diagon alley. He didn’t want to be there too long in case he was found out, but he did need some magical products. He disguised his magical aura so that it would register as purely light and wrapped it around the two of them. That way anyone who had the ability to sense auras would just assume that both of them were magical. They first went to Gringotts, where Harry had Vernon convert a stack of muggle notes into magical coin through an amused looking Goblin who clearly knew that something was up but didn’t care enough about the human in front of him to attempt to help the man. 

They then visited the trunk, bag, and pouch shop. Funnily enough, “wizarding space” is one of magical Europe’s greatest creations. It is one of those magics that must be cast with a wand. No wandless magic had ever succeeded in replicating it, and the previous attempts made had ended up with some unfortunately explosive results. While it should be possible to recreate it, Harry didn’t have the time or the interest in such a risky pursuit that offered such little gain. In the shop Harry bought a pouch that was bigger on the inside and featherlight, but also charmed with a wide array of protective charms. He also bought himself a double expanded compartment trunk. It was again featherlight and protected with the same spells as what was on the pouch. Harry had the trunk-maker then alter one of the compartments so that it became a bathroom and laundry. The other he would use at his leisure. A workshop maybe? He hadn’t decided yet. 

Onto the apothecary. Harry was no potions master. In fact, he really didn’t like brewing potions at all. He was however, good at herbology and care of magical creatures. Meaning that he knew the uses of many plants and animal parts. Harry had no use for cauldrons, but he did know his herbalism and could make use of many pastes, balms, ointments, oils, and teas. He had a look around through all the ingredients on display. It was winter time, and the apothecary in Diagon only stocked what people here bought. Which was generally the same as what came in the kits to be used at Hogwarts. Anyone wanting something a little different, or something that wasn’t so legal, would be looking elsewhere. So, not everything he wanted was there. They had plenty of wormwood, horklump juice, nettles, dittany, flobberworm mucus, fluxweed, and agrimony flowers. The bezoars weren’t too expensive, so he bought one. The shrivelfigs were a little too moist but were still useable and the fire seeds could have been hotter but were still good. The ginger root was too dry, the only thing worse was the salamander blood. There was no chamomile, cinnamon, burdock, or lemongrass, as these ingredients were apparently not used often enough to justify stocking them. It was no surprise that during this season there wasn’t any bee pollen in stock. He did get a jar of live billywigs, some dried boom berries, and the octopus powder that he was looking for. He picked up a good quality mortar and pestle, knowing that it would be cheaper than buying it in the muggle world, as well as a good set of crystal phials and brass scales. Then the two of them got out of there. 

At a clothing store he bought two pairs of dragon hide gloves, in two different sizes. One for now, and one for in a few years’ time. He also got himself a plain black over robe, for when he was feeling nostalgic. It was charmed to grow with him a little, so according to the tailor should fit him for at least three years, possibly five. 

The left-over money amounted to 5 galleons, 7 sickles, and 1 knut. Harry had decided to keep that rather than exchanging it back into muggle money. 

Now that they were back Harry had Vernon carry his things into the house and up the stairs to wait outside his door. He could hear that Dudley was in his room watching telly, and Petunia was busy in the garden. Had they even noticed Vernon driving off this morning with him? Possibly. The second he closed his door he realised Vernon from the spell he was under. He then cast a mild obliviate to obscure the memories. Harry heard some muffled curses before the man walked away. 

Harry then cracked his knuckles and flexed his magic. He had a lot of work to do.

* * *

Eight hours later Harry collapsed back onto his mattress, utterly spent. He had painted the ceiling a cream white and lacquered it to protect it. He’d painted each wall a different design with different colours. One wall was a forest at night with the marauders running through it and howling at the moon, another was an ocean in a storm, the side with the window had a honeycomb design that looked very cheerful, and the last was the golden dragon spitting red fire. A representation of the Hogwarts houses and himself. With the help of magic everything had gone up quickly, dried quickly, and then been lacquered and dried once more. 

While keeping all the furniture and stuff off the floor he’d scrubbed and polished the whole thing. He’d gotten the hot water working in his kitchen sink and in his portable bathroom. Repaired the wardrobe and put away his clothes. Tomorrow he would make and install the curtains. Finish installing the runes to make the toy kitchen function fully. Carve the security runes into the door and window sill so that they were more permanent than his current paint job ones. 

Then he’d be waiting for his deliveries to arrive. 

During that time, he would need to organise some sort of binding contract with Petunia and Vernon. They were going to fear him now, so he had to make sure thing stayed civil with them before that fear had a chance to turn to anger or action. 

Till then though, he was going to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: I think this chapter was inspired by me watching too many Harry Potter themed diy videos on YouTube.


	3. E is for Equinoxes (and other important days)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand why JK Rowling never explored religion in her books. It would have been way too controversial. I’m not trying to offend anyone but like, realistically speaking, most witches and wizards wouldn’t be Christian. Not trying to bash anyone, but people were literally burned alive or drowned for being suspected of witchcraft in the past. I remember the first time I read Harry Potter as a kid I was so confused why witches and wizards celebrated Christmas. So, I did some research on alternatives. I was fairly inspired by what was in England before Christianity spread there. I also used a lot of creative license to add more details to make things interesting and to fit things into the fictional universe I’m writing in. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Btw: With Lughnasa you pronounce “Lugh” so that it rhymes with “Hugh”.

By far the best decision Harry had ever made in his life was leaving the England to study in Magical Italy when he was 22. Life in England had been getting worse and worse after the war with Riddle had ended. In retrospect, Harry realised that he had needed was a break from everything he knew, and the opportunity to reinvent himself. Neither of those things had been possible in his birth country. Reminders of the war, the stalking from the press, and even the well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful expectations of his friends was doing him no favours. 

It had been George Weasley who’d suggested it at first. Once that train of thought had taken off however, there was no stopping it. Harry had to leave. He couldn’t wait to leave. The longer he stayed the more he had felt like there were insects crawling under his skin. 

So, they’d gone off together. Nine months in Italy, and then he and George went their separate ways. George went in to stay in France with his brother and sister-in-law, and Harry had continued his studies. The next time he returned to England was to sign divorce papers with Ginny. Their relationship was one of those things that had been forced on them by well-meaning individuals. It was a product of war, trauma, and too much shared history. They were more comfortable around each other in the months after the divorce papers had been signed than in the two years leading up to the signing. 

Harry had stayed for a while after that. There had been a lot of political tension going around, and he had felt obliged to try and calm things down. It hadn’t worked, but that was a story for another day. 

In those nine months together though, he and George had learned a lot. Embraced a lot as a matter of fact. One of those things they had embraced was magical celebrations and traditions. They had been a bit uncertain of it at first, but it had been recommended to them by Fleur’s younger sister. It was also harder to avoid in the magical communities they were staying in, because nearly everyone celebrated them. Surprisingly though, both had grown to really enjoy it. They’d found peace in it, and a connection to their culture in a way. 

Magical celebrations are based on two key concepts. The first was rooted in astronomy. It was a known fact that the positions of the planets and stars impacted quite heavily on the magic. Divination, potion brewing, certain curses, some rituals, and some types of runic magic were all either enhanced, minimised, or entirely negated depending. Many animals and plants were also impacted. The second was balance. Balance between seasons, between night and day, between light and dark, etc. It was the reason why magical calendars tend to depict the year not in rows and columns, but as a circle or a wheel. 

There are eight celebrations in total. The biggest four are the two solstices and the two equinoxes. Because the timing of the solstices and equinoxes is dependent on what the sun is doing in relation to the planet, the exact dates change year by year. Between each solstice and equinox is a cross-quarter day. They are called Imbolc, which happens at the start of the last month of winter. Beltane, which happens at the start of the last month of spring. Lughnasa, which happens at the start of the last month of summer. Finally, Samhain, which happens at the very start of the last month of autumn. These also change depending on the dates for the other celebrations. 

Though not everyone celebrated all eight of them. Some people and places only did half that, and just celebrated the bigger celebrations. It didn’t matter too much, so long as what they were celebrating was balanced. You shouldn’t celebrate Yule, the winter solstice, and not Litha, the summer solstice, for example. If you celebrated Beltane then you should celebrate Samhain, and so on. 

It should also be noted that those in the southern hemisphere celebrate according to when the seasons are for them. This was just another way that magic balanced itself across the planet. 

Naturally, what George and Harry investigated next was religion. There was a lot to unpack there. 

Magical people did believe in life after death and given the presence of ghosts it was hard not to. Though interestingly enough if you ask a ghost what they remember of death and how they came to be they can’t answer you. Witches and wizards also tend to believe in primordial beings. Death is spoken of as a being in more than just tale, and others like Life, Dream, Chaos, Destiny, and Magic make appearances too. Though there is a lot of variation from country to country, family to family, on this part. Who you prayed to, if you prayed, was considered deeply personal in the magical world. It was generally impolite to ask for specifics, and that information was only shared among those you trusted.   
There was a reason that he and George had never been exposed to these celebrations before (unless you counted the Yule ball in Harry’s fourth year, but it wasn’t like anyone had explained to the Hogwarts students why it was called that though the other schools’ students would have known). Unfortunately, it was politics. 

Grindelwald and his pureblood supremacy had been terrifying for all the magical community, but especially in Europe. In the wake of his defeat everyone had been jumping on the Light side band wagon. The Light side being the political faction (liberal/newer), rather than having actual light magic. It is the same for the Dark side (conservative/traditional) and Grey side (neutral). In the UK it was Albus Dumbledore, Grindelwald’s defeater who had recently found himself being bestowed with positions of political and social power. Albus Dumbledore, who while a gifted professor of transfiguration (and alchemy although that wasn’t something he taught to many students) and strong dueller, was no politician. He was a school teacher. One who’s solution to the whole blood supremacy problem was to encourage others to go out of their way to accommodate muggle-born witches and wizards. 

Harry of course, has nothing against going to great lengths to welcome someone new into a community. To help them acclimatise and to learn from them. Dumbledore’s solution though was to stop the practice of magical religion and celebrations in public places, including Hogwarts. He argued that Pagan holidays and practices were too confronting for muggle-born people and their families. That they should only be done privately. 

He might have used the words “muggle” and “muggleborn”, but what he really meant was “Christian”. Albus Dumbledore addressed a group of witches and wizards, people whose ancestors had fled from persecution from Christianity, and told them their customs and celebrations were offensive to any Christians that might be entering their community.   
Words cannot express Harry’s rage when he found out. 

Albus Dumbledore then went ahead and called the Wizengamot to vote on the matter. For these people, the war had ended only weeks prior. They were fatigued, grieving, and many of them scared that such a war could happen again. That’s Harry’s best explanation for why there were enough people voting who agreed with Dumbledore’s proposal. They probably thought it would only be temporary and that it wouldn’t do any damage. 

They were so wrong. 

Dumbledore didn’t just stop many of the celebrations at Hogwarts and change the names of the others. He removed or altered the books that referenced them from the library, before he made it part of his staff’s contract that they couldn’t discuss any religious beliefs or practices with students or with each other in places that students might overhear.   
The masses heard about Dumbledore's actions and the law, and they just went with it. Traditional holidays became… unsavoury. No one wanted to admit to doing something that might be “dark”. It faded away remarkably quickly, not helped by the serious death toll that the war had taken out across the whole population, and on the middle age (and predominantly child producing) generation especially. 

The knowledge wasn’t gone completely, the law had only been passed about 30 years before Harry’s birth, but it was heading that way fast. Riddle’s rise to power not long after that was partially fuelled by witches and wizards who just wanted to participate in something that was integral to their culture. The whole point of those celebrations was to embrace the community. Yule might be the time for giving presents, but it was also a time of gathering. Nearly all the holidays were celebrated with a community bonfire, and all of them had a purpose. During Imbolc, purification magic was at its most powerful, and the celebration itself was also a time of making vows and cleaning the house in preparation for spring. Ostara, the spring equinox, was the peak time for fertility magics. It was common to have weddings during it and was celebrated with painted and dyed eggs being exchanged, and the wearing of new clothes, many of which were made by friends and family. Beltane marks the highest point in light and earth magic, it was a time of planting, and the time when the walls between the human and fairy worlds were weakest. Midsummer or Litha the summer solstice was usually kicked started with a music festival or dancing. It was the best time for fire magics and it celebrated the sun. Lughnasa brought with it markets and fairs, and the first harvest. The magical world was one that relied heavily on farmers and those who made their own clothes and tools. There simply weren’t enough witches and wizards for items and materials to be mass produced generally. Hence the importance of the sun and the harvest celebrations. The autumn equinox or Mabon was the time in which light and dark were perfectly balanced. Grey magics were at their strongest. Last was Samhain. Harry might not be entirely comfortable with that celebration, but that wasn’t because it celebrated dark magic, divination, or marked the point in which worlds of the living and dead were closest. It was due to his history of tragedy only. 

All the holidays brought people together. They taught you that people mattered, not just your immediate blood family but your neighbours, friends, and your siblings in heart. They were important for magic too. 

That isn’t to say that some of the Death Eaters that joined weren’t there just for blood, mayhem, or the chance to spread bigotry. But, they didn’t just appear out of nowhere. In fact, Harry didn’t think you could get a hate group that large out of nowhere. There were always multiple reasons for “good” people to join. Otherwise the group wouldn’t hold together. Psycho- and sociopaths did not form long lasting groups together without other people acting as the glue. 

Funnily enough, George had recognised many of the traditions though he did not know them by name. They might have called it Christmas, but he could easily recall his mum baking a cake version of the Yule Log. They hadn’t painted eggs at Easter, they’d dyed them (which was more traditional). On the first of May every year his parents had encouraged everyone to plant something in the garden, and they had danced under a Maypole on more than one occasion. Nothing had been named as such, none of the darker celebrations were held (so they were out of balance unfortunately), and his parents had certainly never explained what they were doing exactly. Coming from a proud Light and pro-muggle family though, well, it said a few things. 

He and George had had a debate on which of his siblings knew about what those traditions really were. They had agreed that Bill and Charlie would know, having lived and worked in different countries. George thought that Percy would know, because of his intelligence and because he worked at the ministry. Harry argued that because he worked at the ministry he was less likely to know. The ministry was known for being a bureaucratic nightmare. Paperwork was often misplaced or lost, it was often inconsistent, and the spreading of knowledge was much the same. In fact, the gossip mill was the most efficient form of communication the magical government had in the UK. Ron definitely wouldn’t know. He never picked up on that sort of thing unless it was spelled out to him. Ginny… they couldn’t agree on her. She was difficult to pin down. As a professional quidditch player she travelled a lot, but she never stayed in places long. Harry thought that Tom the diary might have told her a few things. He always got the feeling that she learned a lot more in her first year than she let on, but he wasn’t going to push her on that. 

He would never have pushed her on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a circular calendar might be interesting. Just an idea for a difference between the magical and muggle worlds.   
> I also wanted to give some logical reasons for Dumbledore’s actions (other than him just being “evil” like he is in some fics) and for the rise of Voldemort and his supporters. And we’ve started looking at wizarding politics. Let me know what you think in the comments.


	4. K is for Knitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story the apocalypse happened and the systems that held society together broke down after so many died. So, Harry had to learn to make his own stuff. I also really wanted to explore other kinds of magic.

Dudley’s hand-me-downs had always been too large for Harry. The only ones that were close to fitting him were the ones that had been worn years before Harry got a chance to wear them. This meant that only the most faded and worn clothing fitted him without the use of a belt or safety pins. Despite the deal he had going on with the Dursleys though, he didn’t want them to spend the money to get him properly sized clothes. 

He preferred to make his own where possible. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the time for it, and by making his own clothes he could have them perfectly suited to his own needs and wants. No more searching for the right colours, the right sizes. He could also incorporate whatever magic he wanted into the material. It was cheaper this way too, which the Dursleys liked. He could then spend any extra money from his weekly allowance on something else he wanted. 

He bought things in bulk. Balls of wool, spools of thread, buttons by the dozens, and even untreated animal fur which he turned into felt. Untreated stuff was cheaper, which is also why he often got plain wool so that he could dye it the colour or colours that he wanted. More expensive stuff like dye and leather he bought sparingly, and usually in Diagon Alley because it was cheaper in the magical alleyway. Or he went looking in second-hand shops. 

Knitting was one of his favourite hobbies and brought back a lot of memories for him. The oldest of which was of the Weasley family. Mrs Weasley had knitted him a jumper for Christmas (they celebrated it instead of Yule) every year up until her death in 2001. Of course, she had used magic to do the knitting. Not that he looked down on her for it. She was trying to look after a family of seven children, while her husband was off working, and she was managing the Weasley farm. She’d never had the time to knit by hand.   
Knitting, weaving, or any other form of craft with magic, was inherently inferior to what a magical person could do if they had the know-how and chose to make something by hand. Using magic, crafting was faster but also had to be of a simpler design. By hand, a witch or wizard, would imbue their magic into what they were making as it was being made. If done consciously, all sorts of protective magic could be made into what was being produced. Stitch magic, song magic, ritual magic, and many more obscure branches of magic. Even if it was only done unconsciously, the person who made the item will have left an imprint of their magic on it. So, whatever was made usually lasted longer, was more durable, and if the person was close to the person that the item was being made for, there were often other effects. Such as the item bringing good luck or protection. Unless they hated that person, then things got a little interesting. 

There were some truly nasty curses out there. And many of them hadn’t required a word or a wand. 

Doing it by hand took time though. Harry had a bit of a system in place: when it came to weaving cloth, he did it with magic. Creating even a small square of fabric took a long time. Quilting he did by hand. The value in a quilt that was imbibed with protections far outweighed the time spent making it. Also, quilting didn’t take long once you had the hang of it. Knitting he did by hand, so long as what he was making was smaller than his torso. Felting was done with magic unless what he was making was smaller than his face. It took a lot of physical work to turn fur into felt, and he was still in the body of a young child. 

Of course, there were other disadvantages to being a young child again. Primarily the fact that he had to reteach his muscles how to move again. Getting back into the rhythm where he could tune out from what his hands were doing and just continue to knit took a long time. So, he practiced and practiced. 

What he did to practice was make lots of beanies, mittens, and clothes for toddlers and infants. Because they were small, they didn’t take long to make. The designs were also repetitive and easy to remember. 

By the time December came around that year, he had a basket full of clothes. So, he wrapped it up and gave it to a hospital to give out to their patients. That time of the year was one of gift giving. It made sense that given he didn’t have a family, he’d give to those who needed it. The blonde receptionist had been stunned when he’d walked through the door wheeling his basket (it was a big basket, big enough for him to fit inside easily) over towards her. It had all been dispersed amongst the maternity and children’s wards. People had cooed over him and thanked him a lot. That had been a little overwhelming. 

But it had felt like the right thing to do. The perfect way to celebrate Yule (the staff just thought it was great that his delivery was a few days before Christmas and he didn’t correct them). It honoured his culture and heritage, helped people who might be struggling, and really freaked out his relatives. The last part was just a bonus. 

Really. Cross his heart and hope to die. 

It wasn’t his fault the Dursleys didn’t like it when other people praised them for how they were raising their nephew. It just showed how aware they were of how wrong their actions towards him had been. 

Not that they made a move to apologise or anything. That would be too much to ask for. 

He did thank them for driving him to and from the hospital though. It was the polite thing to do. And he would be doing this again every year from now on too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit short, I know. But tomorrow's will be longer. And it will involve parseltongue.


	5. H is for Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another update. I’m on a role people. Let me know what you think by commenting.

Harry was good at healing magics, though had not found out about this fact until years after he had left Hogwarts. It had confused him at first. He’d thought his greatest magical strength lay in combat. Having a strong leaning towards healing seemed counter intuitive. Until his teacher, an Australian Aboriginal witch by the name of Thammara, pulled him aside to yell at him for not mentioning that he was a snake speaker. 

“What does me being a parselmouth have to do with anything?” He’d asked her. 

“Everything! Snake-magic, or parsel-magic as your people call it, centres around healing. Some people can learn to understand the language, or mimic it, but that is all because it is an inherited gift. Why do you think that the Greek god of medicine was depicted with two snakes? Why do you think that in the muggle world two snakes wrapped around a staff is used to symbolise medicine? They still remember their roots! And why do you think that dark lord you killed, for all that he flaunted his ability to talk to snakes, why he never showed any snake-magic?” Her words were spoken passionately, and Harry had been frozen in his spot. 

“Because he had no interest in healing,” He’d answered, understanding dawning in his eyes. 

“Correct. Now, let’s get you started on healing magics, yes?” That last part had been said with a mischievous light in her eyes. 

Harry was good at healing magics and he was better at healing magics that didn’t require a wand. 

As he had found in his travels, wands were not the only type of focus a magical being could use. There were many materials that worked well with magic or enhanced certain magics. Magic could be channelled through a wand, but rings, staffs, stones, and amulets were common tools in other parts of the world. And instead of incantations, one could write, weave, carve, sing, or even dance to focus magic. No words required. After all, magic was intent based. How a person connected to their magic could be deeply personal, or just a reflection of the common practices in their time and culture. 

It was fortunate that he was so skilled in healing magics though because he needed to do some healing on his body. 

The horcrux was causing him a bit of trouble. His eyesight was causing him more trouble. He’d found out later in his old life that he should never have needed glasses at a young age, not with him having inherited his mother’s eyes. But during his formative years he’d spent a lot of time in kept in the cupboard or inside. That limited light had damaged them. The earlier he got them fixed, the better the results would be. He was also noticeably small for his age. His parents hadn’t been short, so he should be somewhere around average height he figured. Either way, a proper purification and healing ritual should fix all of this.

He’d gathered his materials in preparation early. Candle, chalk, salt, 2 ceramic bowls, incense, matches, water, a ceramic plate, a large chunk of amethyst he had bought, and a few snakes. 

Amethyst is the birthstone of February, the month in which Imbolc is celebrated. Imbolc celebrates purification and cleansing in the magical world and is the perfect time to perform powerful purification rituals. Amethyst itself is known for helping to channel protective and cleansing magics, as well as for boosting intuition in those nearby. It is also inexpensive. 

Getting the snakes was a little harder. There weren’t many of them in Surrey, and so when he’d walked around calling for them it had taken him a long time to find any. He’d had to go off in search for more, because the ritual required both venomous and non-venomous snakes. 

Or “death-bite” and “safe-bite”, as the literal translation of the parseltongue language went. 

It was a good thing that the snakes he’d spoken to (who had also agreed to help him in the ritual later) knew where some vipers were. Because Common European Viper is the only type of venomous snake native to Britain. 

This year Imbolc was on the 2nd of February. Harry got up early that morning and let the snakes who had gathered in the garden into the house while the Dursleys were still asleep. There were five vipers, three grass snakes, and three smooth snakes. Some of them found the stairs to be tricky, so he ended up carrying four of them himself. He then set the snakes to rest on his rug while he continued the preparations (making sure he activated the warming runes that he’d added some time ago). 

With the chalk he very carefully drew a large circle, large enough that he could lie down in it and not touch the edges. Inside that he drew the simplest Celtic knot, a three pointed one (three being a powerful number), where the points were the only part to reach outside the circle. Onto one of the points he placed a bowl filled with water (water is the element of healing), onto the second he placed the plate with the amethyst on it, and onto the last he placed a bowl with the incense. The incense he’d used was made up of various healing plants, such as burdock roots and seeds, chamomile flowers, cinnamon bark, and wiggentree bark. The was also wormwood bark present, as it was known for removing unwanted pests. He wouldn’t light it until it was time. He got out the salt shaker, and sprinkled salt into each bowl as well as onto the plate. Salt is known to fight impurities and has been used in healing and alchemy for thousands of years. The candle he’d chosen was placed in the centre of the circle. 

With that part done Harry stripped off his clothes. He called the snakes towards himself and asked that they position themselves so that their bodies covered just the circle. They did so, and the was still a few snakes to spare, so he directed them to coil around the bowls or the plate. 

Harry stepped into the circle, being very careful not to step on the chalk lines. He lit the incense bowl, carefully lay down in the circle, and then lit his candle. 

Magic flared to life, the chalk lines and snakes started to glow with power, and Harry was very grateful that his runes hiding his room from the world were strong because otherwise this would alert every ministry official in the United Kingdom. 

That was the last clear thought he had before that power entered his body and he was out like a light.

* * *

He next woke to knocking on the door. Blearily he opened his eyes. There was light outside now, and a glance towards the clock showed that it was 8:30 in the morning. Petunia had brought him breakfast then, just as he had asked her to the previous night. 

He looked down at his body. It seemed much the same, but a little more filled out around the ribs, belly, and thighs. His eyesight was much better now. Everything was so much clearer. 

He sat up. 

The candle had gone out long ago, likely when the magic had finished because it was still quite large. The chalk was gone, blown away by the magic. The snakes…. Where were the snakes? Oh, they were playing on his rug. They seemed completely fine. 

He then stood up, took a step, and nearly landed flat on his face. He was taller. Not by much, two inches? But it was enough to throw off his balance. He took another step. Better. His magic felt lighter than before. Not lighter as in its magical orientation, but lighter as in free. It felt like the horcrux was gone, but he would have to do a proper check later when he was more alert and focused. 

He emptied the bowl of water out the window, and the bowl of incense into the bin. The plate with the amethyst was set on his desk. He needed a shower. He could collect his breakfast from where Petunia left it outside his door later. 

Before he stepped into his trunk though he pulled out the box he’d caught several mice in the night before. He called to the snakes once and then set the box onto the ground. That would take care of any hungry snake bellies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have headcanons about parseltongue. About the language itself and the potential uses for it. Just because, why have an instinctive magical language as a skill if it didn’t serve other purposes? Also, we got onto more types of magical focuses. Animal parts and different types of wood get a little boring after a while in my opinion.


	6. S is for Shaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got an image in my head of how Harry could be messing with the Dursleys and I had to write this. Sorry that it's so short. 
> 
> I’ve also given a lot of names and backgrounds to the neighbours. Just to add details about Privet Drive because we don’t know much of who else was there and want went on. Unless they were part of Dudley’s gang though, then they’re not canon characters.

Harry was in the habit of keeping his hair short. Short hair was quicker to dry after a shower, it didn’t need to be brushed as much, and it had the added benefit of being harder for another person to grab. The only problem was that short hair needed regular care to keep it short. 

Harry could spend some of his allowance on haircuts. But, that seemed ridiculous when he could do it himself and save the money. It didn’t need to be said that he would rather cut off a hand then ask Petunia to cut his hair the way she did for Dudley. 

Cutting your own hair is hard though. Getting the hair even was pain. There were parts that were hard to see and reach. So, instead, Harry decided that he would just let it grow to a point, shave it off, and repeat. 

This still required a careful hand and a mirror, but he managed. He would sit mostly naked with the mirror in front of him and make careful use of the razor blade, while trying not to get the shaving cream everywhere. 

He got a few strange looks for it at first. Elijah and Miriam Stewart, the old married couple that lived across at number three, had given him and the Dursleys looks for days after the first time it happened. It wasn’t that surprising really. The retirees had little to do with their time but sit, watch, and judge people for what they were wearing and doing with their time. Abigail and Ester Hudson, the girls who lived at number eight had giggled at him, and then run off to tell their parents. That family had then passed the news onto other members of their congregation, which soon had everyone around Privet Drive, Magnolia Crescent, Church Road, and Wisteria Walk knowing about it. Most people in the area were some type of Christian (the Dursleys were in the minority for not, but couldn’t be convinced to convert no matter how many well-intentioned people tried), and those that didn’t soon heard from their neighbours about it. Harry hadn’t cared. Not even when Emma Clarke, Dennis’s eldest sister asked him if he had nits. The adult Dursleys had cared very much, of course. But it was too late to do anything about it. 

They and the neighbours soon got used to it though. Harry shaved his head once every four months, so they had to. 

Eventually he became quite good at the process. Fast and accurate. He sported a mohawk for a little while, and then much later he let the hair on top of his head grow a bit longer than the rest. Just a few times, so he didn’t get bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and I’ve also posted the notes I took when I researched birthstones as part of this series. I quite like the gemstones as magical focuses and plan to use them again at some point. Check it out if you want.


	7. T is for Tinkering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else ever question how Diagon Alley stayed hidden if magic messed up anything electrical it encountered? I’ve seen a lot of theories on how magic can work well with technology, so I thought I’d give it a crack myself. Also, Dumbledore is shady af in this story. Harry doesn’t trust him at all.

“Technology doesn’t work well around magic. Especially if the technology uses electricity.”

It was told to every muggle-raised and muggleborn student as soon as they entered Hogwarts if not before that. It seemed logical. Nearly everyone had experienced accidental magic that damaged some sort of technology. Shattered lightbulbs, turned the tellie screen into static, blew up the toaster, etc. Technology and magic really did seem to be opposites of each other. There was no mixing of it in Diagon Alley, and that Alley was the first face of the magical world seen by the muggleborns and their families. It was designed to be as welcoming as possible, yet it looked like it came straight out of a renaissance fair. Anything electrical that was brought into Hogwarts soon died altogether, so students soon accepted it as fact. 

It was a lie though. 

Surges of magic were dangerous for things that had delicate wiring, like accidental magic. Regular, controlled magic on the other hand? It didn’t do anything. Otherwise Diagon Alley, which sits in the middle of London city, would be much harder to keep hidden, don’t you think?

It had blown Harry’s mind when he figured it out and seen it in action. Elsewhere around the world, magical settlements and communities had differing levels of integration with magical technology. There were entire branches of the Magical American government designed to research, alter, and introduce new technology to their people. 

Hogwarts was a different issue. It might be just a school nowadays, but it was important to remember that Hogwarts is a castle. It was built to be a fortress during the time before magical and muggle separation, and during a time when muggles were a threat to magical children. It has some of the most powerful wards in the country. Wards that are, for the most part, directed towards keeping muggles and magical creatures out. Not keeping out other magical people, for example. 

The headmaster or headmistress had full control over the wards of Hogwarts. It was needed to lower some of them and allow different creatures to be brought into the castle for lessons. But no headmaster or headmistress had ever lowered the wards that kept muggles out, or that damaged muggle technology that got inside the castle. 

It had been a deep blow to realise that Albus Dumbledore, the man so known for his pro-muggle views, had never considered allowing his students simple pleasures such as modern music or calculators. That he deliberately perpetuated the lie that technology and magic were not compatible. They could have been doing something about the division between muggleborns and purebloods. They could have been educating people about the true capabilities of muggle technology. Instead though students had to choose to take an elective that only taught out-dated information on muggles. 

It was no wonder that CCTV had discovered them and the magical people, unprepared and behind the times, had utterly failed to make a good impression on the world and prevent the war that followed. 

Harry had resolved to become more familiar with technology this time. He did this by visiting the rubbish tip as often as he could. He’d scavenge through all the piles, looking for things that were useful or mostly intact, and then he’d take it home to play with. Somethings he took apart, so he could learn more about them and then throw them out or repurpose them. A lawnmower engine, then a small car engine. Dudley’s broken gaming system. A broken computer. Other things he fixed up so that they’d work for him using magic as a power source. A CD player, though he’d brought the headphones to go with it brand new. A lot of the music he loved hadn’t been made yet but there was plenty out there for him to enjoy. A music box from Mrs Faulkner’s garage sale. She’d given it to him at half the price listed when she saw that he was the one buying it. 

Mrs Faulkner lived at number 45 Church Road with her husband and daughter. Her daughter Priscilla had gone to school with Harry last time. He hadn’t liked her much, as she was loud and obnoxious, but her mother was kind. Harry could appreciate anyone who dedicated so much of their time to volunteering at an animal shelter. 

His next biggest challenge would be figuring out how to ward them so that he could bring them to Hogwarts and use them safely. The main problem was that without being at Hogwarts Harry would have to guess how the wards were layered and which ones had been used. Hogwarts’ security was powerful but old. It limited the possible configurations of the wards. If he messed up though things could get explosive. The smaller problem was figuring out how extensively he needed to ward each item. Calculators would be easy enough. They were just one thing. But what about a boombox or CD player? Would he just need to ward the main piece? Or would he need to protect the CDs and headphones too?

Oh well. He did enjoy a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be Monday folks. Please leave a comment, I do enjoy your feedback.


	8. B is for Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The food always sounded so good in the books and looked so good in the movies. I made myself hungry while writing this. Unfortunately, my baking skills are limited to microwave muffins.

There was a time in Harry’s life when he hated cooking. It was back when he was forced to prepare nearly all the meals for the Dursleys and when he never got to try any of that food for himself. He’d fry bacon, toast bread, scramble eggs, sauté mushrooms, make Vernon’s coffee and Petunia’s tea, and all he’d be given was the more burnt pieces of bread for his breakfast. Food was a pleasure in the Dursley household. One he hadn’t been allowed to take part in beyond the bare necessities. 

This had changed when he got older. He finally got to eat what he cooked, and slowly, ever so slowly, he learnt to enjoy it. When he and Ginny had been living together it was Harry who had done most of the cooking, and that had been fine. Other people had raised a few eyebrows at it or laughed at Harry as though he had somehow lowered himself by doing “women’s work”. Harry had just rolled his eyes at it when it appeared in the papers, but Ginny had taken offense. On both of their behalves. For all his struggles during his Hogwarts years with the press and his infamous temper, Harry was proud to say that he wasn’t the first Potter to give the paparazzi the middle finger. 

“You’ve always been your own number one hero Ginny.” He’d told her the next day when the photographic proof came out. Her smile had lit up the room. 

Now that he was back in his old life Harry had brought in many changes. He wasn’t interested in living off Petunia’s cooking. He didn’t trust her, and her cooking wasn’t that good anyway. So, per the agreement he had with her and her family, Harry was responsible for his own meals, laundry, and the upkeep of his room. The Dursleys were required to set aside money to cover Harry’s weekly food bill plus a small allowance. It wasn’t anything ridiculous. Harry knew how much decent, healthy food would cost. He also took shameless advantage of his ability to apparate undetected (he’d learned during the war) to visit obscure markets, both magical and muggle, as well as muggle stores that were having sales. Harry never bought anything at full price, and during his week he sometimes visited as many as six different places for his groceries. All to get the best deals. 

He had a limited budget to think about after all and there were advantages to keeping underbudget. Such as getting to add spend that money to his allowance and then spending it on other stuff. 

Petunia now only cooked for him once in a blue moon, and it was something he had to give her advanced notice about wanting it. It was such a good agreement they had. Well, contract really. It was magically binding after all and it kept everything between the three of them civil. It didn’t bind Dudley though. Harry had strong views on binding children to magical contracts unless there was no other viable alternative. Petunia and Vernon were enough to keep their son in line. Most of the time. When they didn’t Harry did it for them. Subtly of course. 

It didn’t happen often. Dudley was smart enough to pick on the warnings and follow the example set for him by his parents. Most of the time. 

Harry cooked a lot. Not just for each meal, but also for things he prepared ahead of time and that lasted a while. He made his own preserves. Jams and marmalades. He made peanut butter. His own cheeses, yogurts, and ice creams. He marinaded meats, pickled vegetables, and smoked meats. He baked. Pies, pasties, cakes, and biscuits. Treacle was still one of his favourite foods that he often put into desserts. He usually kept things seasonal. It made sense to buy things in bulk during the times of the year that they were cheapest. 

Then there were the holiday special foods. 

There weren’t any for Imbolc as it was a time of clearing out what you already had, not adding more just yet. Ostara traditionally served ham at its feast. Harry liked to smoke his and put into sandwiches. It also called for boiled eggs, but he preferred to only have those at breakfast. Beltane had these special sweets called candied flower blossoms. Harry would make a whole lot of these, eat some, and hand the rest out to the children he was friendly with. Like the Williamson twins, Joy and Grace, from number 11 Privet Drive. Yes, their parents really did name them that. They’re a very religious family. Harry felt a bit sorry for the girls because their brothers got more common names, being James and Timothy. Harry also handed them out to the siblings of people he didn’t like. Emma and Hazel Clarke, Dudley’s friend Dennis’s older sisters. They did a good job of keeping their younger brother in line and were more likely to do it at Harry’s request in exchange for food. 

Midsummer was a time in which he ate a lot of grilled vegetables and fish. Harry made candied ginger for the solstice, which he again shared with the same children. It wasn’t as popular as the candied blossoms, likely because it wasn’t as sweet, but it happened to become Davina Schofield’s new favourite food. She was very disappointed to find out that it wasn’t something sold in most shops. Her mother had looked bewildered by the whole thing. He had ended up going over to number eight Wisteria Walk to give the address of a shop her knew in London which did make the unusual treat. 

Harry looked forward to the day when he could make and share mead again though. That would have to wait a few years. His body wasn’t ready for alcohol yet. 

Lughnasa being the first harvest meant he had to bake bread. He didn’t grind his own flour (he wasn’t that keen) so the type of bread he made differed year by year, depending on what he bought. Sometimes it was olive bread, sometimes honey, and other times it was seeded. This he shared with the neighbours, both the children and the adults. It was particularly popular with the Brooks family. The autumn equinox didn’t have any unique foods tied to it, but Harry used whatever was in season to make his meals during it. Barmbrack and bonfire toffee were traditional Samhain treats. But, Harry didn’t like the sultana bread that much. He still made some, but instead of eating it himself he’d sit out in front of the house and offer pieces of it to treat-or-treaters walking by. The Dursleys didn’t celebrate Halloween, which Harry didn’t mind. He didn’t much like modern Halloween; it was too light-hearted for him and felt almost insulting to actual magical people and beings. He still greeted the people that walked by in a friendly manner and offered them bread. If they were particularly polite to him he also offered some of the bonfire toffee he made. That stuff tasted good. 

On a side note Dudley got very upset each year when he wasn’t allowed to go trick-or-treating like the other kids, once he was old enough to realise that he was missing out on something. He threw tantrums like normal, shouted, stomped, cried, but it didn’t change anything. His parents hated and feared any mention of magic or the supernatural. They wouldn’t allow him to dress up and take sweets from strangers. It was the only thing they were firm with him about. Though, Vernon did end up taking out bags of sweets each year that he just handed over to his son to pacify him. 

Yuletide was when Harry made a Yule log cake. It was made with a thing sponge cake, layered with icing, that was rolled into a log and then decorated to look like a true Yule log. Harry was able to make a small one, around four inches long, two inches wide. It was enough when it was just him eating it. In place of the Yule boar, he did roast a leg of ham. He did look forward to the day when he could kill, cook, and eat a proper Yule boar. You needed a large group of people for that to be worthwhile though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to be clear that Harry did love Ginny. Their relationship didn’t work out, but not because they didn’t care about each other. Life can just be messy sometimes.


	9. D is for Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a reason for Harry to get out more, and a physical activity like dancing fit the bill perfectly. Btw, I’m aware now that there aren’t any assessments conducted on children who are being home-schooled (“home-education” is the popular term over there) in England. I only found out after I wrote about it though, and I can’t be bothered to change what I’ve written. So just pretend that the education system makes sense.

Too much self-reflection and time on your own isn’t good for you. Especially when at some point you will need to be able to interact with your peers and not come across as completely alien. Harry’s relationship with the Dursleys is stable now; they simply leave each other alone without a word. He goes places, but rarely does he talk to people beyond necessity. Receiving a home education (better known as self-study in his case) gets him out of a lot of mundane things. After his sixth birthday Harry realised that the only person close to his physical age that he could remember talking to in the last month was Dudley. 

That was… tragic. 

So, he asked Petunia to pay for him to attend dance lessons twice a week at a local place. She had been a bit hesitant at first. They would have to buy the right sort of clothes for Harry to wear as Harry couldn’t made the uniform required, and then they had to pay for lessons. It would be the most expensive thing they had ever given him. Harry then reminded her of the last assessment conducted by a teacher. 

The woman who had come to make sure that little Harry Potter was learning at a fine rate at home had been most impressed with what the test results showed. However, she had stayed a few minutes longer to have tea and chat with Petunia. She had expressed some… concerns about how isolated little Harry Potter was, and then Petunia foolishly mentioned that Harry didn’t have any friends and spent most of his time in the library or his room. Then the teacher was very concerned. 

By taking lessons twice a week with a group of people his age, he would be forced to socialise. It would certainly look better if another assessor asked about. Petunia had agreed.   
Harry liked dancing though, so it was hardly a chore. He hadn’t been very good at it in the beginning, mostly because he had no experience with formal dance lessons but had soon adapted. 

Mondays lesson was ballet. It was traditional, usually at a slow pace, and something that he felt was very good for personal fitness and it taught him a lot of new skills. It was also the class that had a lot less boys than girls, which means that he was always needed for parts. Which was nice. The biggest downsides were the parents of the other children and the substitute teacher they had whenever their primary one was sick or away performing. For some reason the parents of the other children tended to be competitive, and they forced this onto their children. Little Maria Giannopoulos, who did live on Privet Drive as it happened, had to get the primary part because she was better than everyone despite being a year younger than Harry, or all hell would break lose apparently. A lot of them were also snobs. Mrs Beaumaris’s face when she found out that Harry was an orphan was priceless. It was like she’d just sucked on a lemon and was trying to hide it. As for the substitute teacher, well she made Snape look friendly and relaxed. It was a good thing he only had to put up with her about once a season. 

Thursdays lessons changed from week to week. It was designed so that children could try a bit of everything, and then figure out what style suited them best. One week might be on waltzes, another on country dances, and the next might be ballroom dances. The skill level needed for this class was a lot less than the other, but it had many great things to offer. It was easier to socialize for one. People talked freely, and the teachers were not as strict. It was fast paced and hard to get bored in. He also liked the fact that he soon had a handle on the very basics of a whole range of different styles. In the future he could pursue any of them he wanted, and at the very least he wouldn’t look like a fish out of water if he was ever put on the spot to dance. 

He was friendly with his classmates (anyone who tried to bully him soon learned better), though he wasn’t really friends with them. Or at least, that’s what he thought. In his mind, friends were people who understood you and who you trusted. He didn’t have much in common with his classmates. Their lives were as foreign to him as his life would be to them (if they knew more about his life). He said the appropriate greeting or farewell, memorised their names, and if they lived close to him geographically than he made a note of where they lived. But then, out of the blue, he got invited to a birthday party. 

As he soon found out, she had invited all the girls in their class to it too. He was the only boy invited, except for the birthday girl’s (Annabelle’s) younger brother Jack. 

He had never been to a birthday party before, not as a child for another child anyway. He’d gone along to his godchildren’s parties. That didn’t really count though. Adults were a lot less keen on parties, unless they were milestone one’s like 50th and 100th ones. None of his friends had made it to those milestones. 

He’d found that he couldn’t turn Annabelle Deacons down. 

Annabelle lived in the wealthiest part of Surrey, in a house with seven bedrooms, three bathrooms, a massive backyard, and a large swimming pool. Harry had to buy swim shorts and goggles for it because it was summer time and there was no way they wouldn’t get into the pool at some point according to Annabelle. He hadn’t wanted the Dursleys to know about his plans, so he’d walked to the house instead of asking for a lift. 

It took a lot of courage for him to walk up to the front door and ring the buzzer. Some of that old anxiety bubbling away in his chest. He still hadn’t felt like he should be there, even though he had the invitation in his left hand and the wrapped present and card under his right arm. 

The door was opened by a man in his late thirties. He was tall, clean shaven, and one look at his hazel eyes and brown hair revealed that this must be Annabelle’s father. 

“Hello Mr Deacons. My name’s Harry Potter and I’m here for Annabelle’s birthday party,” The last part came out sounding a bit like a question, but luckily Mr Deacons didn’t comment. 

“Right this way Harry. She’s out the back with the others,” He said, moving an arm to indicate the corridor behind him. 

“Thank you, sir.” Harry said, feeling some of the tension leave his body. 

He followed Mr Deacons out the back to where the others were indeed gathered beneath a large tree. There was a table set out with food and drinks on it, and another which seemed to be loaded with presents. He barely managed to put his stuff down before Annabelle came running over to drag him into games. That seemed to perfectly summarise their relationship he thought. 

Two hours later they were all gathered around Annabelle as she opened her presents. Harry had thought that the unwrapping of presents was supposed to happen after the guests had left, but maybe he was wrong. Annabelle seemed to be using the time to not only see what her gifts were, but to hug and thank each person who had gifted them to her. That was certainly nicer than what Dudley would be like in this situation. He had hoped not to see all the other gifts though. It was no secret that Annabelle and all her other friends were of a very different socio-economic background compared to him. At least when you factored in that Harry wouldn’t be able to access his parents’ money for some years. He could easily blow all his savings in getting Annabelle a gift and still come out short compared to her friends. 

The obvious solution was to play to his strengths and make her something. Which he had, he just wasn’t sure if she would like it. The fake dragon scales were an unusual choice after all, and she may not-

“Harry?” Her voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes, Annabelle?” He answered immediately. 

“Is this one yours?” She asked, pointing to the box wrapped in bright pink paper. Annabelle liked pink. He remembered that she'd told him that once. 

“Yes… I hope you like it,” He finished awkwardly. 

She tore the wrappings off and then carefully opened the box. Her eyes widened, and she reached in a pulled out what was inside. Silence had fallen over the group, some of them even leaning forward to get a better look at what Annabelle was holding up. 

It was a vest. A knitted one, in purple and black. Except he’d taken fake purple dragon scales and put a hole into the top of each one so that it was incorporated into the knitting. It flowed together to look like the scales of a real reptile, except along the sides of the torso where the arms would sometimes be. Harry hadn’t put any scales there. That way it wouldn’t cause any irritation for the person wearing it. He hadn’t known Annabelle’s size when he made it. So, he’d just made it to fit himself. It should fit her well, and the wool was nice and stretchy, so it should fit her for a long time. 

“Oh my gosh Harry this is amazing! Thank you so much!” He was pulled into a fast and hard hug. He hugged her back a second later. 

All that anxiety for nothing. Well, hopefully he’d get invited to more parties in the future. They were fun. Even if he wasn’t sure if what they had could be called a proper friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I was inspired by Baking to write a little side story about one of Harry’s neighbours. Check it out if you want. I’ll probably do more of them.


	10. M is for Mortar and Pestle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing more politics, historical bullshit, and random herbology headcanons of mine. I always thought that there had to be more to potions than just using a cauldron. Not all cultures would have easy access to cauldrons, so they would have had to have a way around that.

Harry didn’t like potions. He didn’t like brewing them or consuming them and it wasn’t all Snape’s fault. Sure, the man had made learning potions in a classroom unpleasant, but that was hardly the whole explanation. Harry was good with plants and animals, he knew his way around prepping ingredients and following recipes. Learning the benefits and side effects of each ingredient, as well as what happens when ingredients were mixed, wasn’t something that would take too long. Logically, Harry should be good at potions. Potters often were. Harry almost was. 

His issues were mostly stemmed from the restrictions the government put on potions and the fact that potions were the go-to for almost any kind of healing in the UK. In the defence of someone like Madam Pomphrey, she was only a school nurse. Unlike a fully trained healer, her qualifications were a lot more limited. Outside of basic healing spells that used a wand, she really was only able to prescribe potions to her students. A healer from St Mungo’s on the other hand, was trained and qualified for some much more powerful and intricate wand-work, but almost always stuck with just potions. Potions were not a bad tool for healing of course, but they shouldn’t be the only one used. In the UK though, all rituals were viewed with suspicion. It was the same with other kinds of wandless magic, like song magic. 

As for the restrictions on potions themselves, in the UK if the government labelled something as “traditional medicines”, then it couldn’t be sold by a licensed potioneer or herbologist to anyone. 

Harry made traditional medicines, many of which he had learned from the spirits of the dead he had summoned through the resurrection stone. He ground ingredients in a mortar and pestle, he dried others out, he burned some as incense, and he made creams, butters, teas, gels, and oils with the rest. His remedies were eaten, drunk in a diluted form, or topical. The only boiling he did was when he was extracting oils from something. Like this, it was in a less processed and more potent form. 

In many parts of the world this was still a viable way of doing things, but not where he grew up. 

Why?

Politics. 

Cauldrons used to be very expensive and hard to get. The metal needed to be pure, so as not to impact on what was being made inside it. There also needed to be a lot of it. Metal like this at time was expensive. So, the poorer magical families did not use them. They practiced what Harry still does. If you couldn’t dry it out to make tea or incense, then you mushed it up into something that was eaten or rubbed on your body. There is nothing wrong with this. Potions brewed in a cauldron do have some advantages. They allow a person to produce much more complicated and targeted results. They also tend to be less potent however. Dittany is an obvious example. The essence of it, or the part from the centre of the stem, when its scrapped out into a paste, is much more potent them any other skin healing potion. 

Unfortunately, a very powerful family arrived in England during the middle of the 14th century. They were very rich, and the government at the time tried to earn their favour. This family made most of their business making and selling cauldrons. So, a law was passed that any certified healer needed to be familiar with and capable of making potions. This meant that St Mungo’s needed to make changes to the way it taught and tested people. Which lead to changes at Hogwarts, in which suddenly every student was learning to brew with a cauldron, rather than just the older years. It wasn’t long before nearly everyone was more familiar with making potions in a cauldron than the way their ancestors had done. Suddenly, home remedies were considered a sign the lower class and less educated, and something to be mocked. When the Society of Potioneers was formed in 1424, they had enough money and influence to get Hogwarts to stop teaching home remedies entirely. 

Ironically the family which benefitted from this the most went extinct in the 18th century. 

The impacts are still lingering though. Any potion, or potion-like substance must be made in a cauldron or a potioneer trying to sell it could have their licence revoked. All throughout Europe there are similar laws and views on home remedies, although they were usually less extreme. 

The stupidity of his countryfolk were not Harry’s problem though. He would continue to grow most of his own plants. He would buy those he could not grow, as well as the animal parts or other ingredients that he needed. When he got to Hogwarts he’d work hard enough to pass Potions with flying colours (as an adult who’d done well in it before it would be kind of pathetic if he didn’t get somewhere between exceeds expectations and outstanding), and then he wouldn’t continue the class after fifth year. If in the end he decided to pursue a career involving healing, then he’d go elsewhere in the world for his qualifications. He’d need to take a test or a bridging course to prove that he knew about the benefits, limitations, and risks of all the ingredients, but that wouldn’t be hard. He’d taken one before after all. 

He was currently in the process of writing a guide to plants, animals, and other things to be used in home remedies. He was writing everything by hand, was going to include diagrams and drawings. Each page was centred on a different plant or ingredient. After he’d done enough of it he was going to bind it properly, key it to himself so that only he could read and modify it. It was going to be far more useful than any of his potions textbooks had ever been.


	11. Q is for Quest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering what was going on with Arabella Figg, here’s the chapter you’ve been waiting for. Also, if you didn’t see it, yesterday in the GM Side Stories I posted a chapter about the Deacons family that appear in Dancing. You should check it out.

Mrs Arabella Figg was a widowed squib who lived at number three Magnolia Crescent, in Surrey. She had moved there on November the 11th 1981 on the orders of Albus Dumbledore, leader of the Order of the Phoenix, of which she was the only squib member. The war might have been over but there was no way she’d have been able to refuse him. Not that she had wanted to. It was on this ordinary street, in this ordinary part of the country, where she kept an eye on the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry James Potter. The one who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby. 

Working for Albus Dumbledore was an honour. That she had finally been in a position to be useful to him and his cause was a dream come true for her. She didn’t know how he’d managed to find and purchase a house so close to where little Harry Potter lived but she didn’t care. It made doing her job so easy; he was just across the fence from her. She could watch Harry from the window of her room whenever he was out in the backyard or visible in the windows. She didn’t just watch him there of course. She also walked the streets, kept an eye out for suspicious individuals, and gave an ear to the local gossip. In a place like this, everybody knew everybody. Chances were if something was off it would one of the housewives who spotted it first. It really was a tight knit community. 

She did need to be careful about what she said to her neighbours. Not mentioning magic was harder than she had first expected. Previously she’d lived in a mixed community; one that was magical and muggle. She had of course spent her whole life without having magic herself, but she had grown up with it. Her family hadn’t abandoned her when her squib status came out. That had been a blessing from a financial point of view. This was the first time she had lived and worked in a purely muggle setting for any serious length of time. She hadn’t realised how many references she made to magic or magical things on a regular basis. It had taken some adjustment. 

Sometimes the muggles said things that she didn’t understand. Or they brought up things that she couldn’t comment on, like religion. She had been shocked to learn that there were two churches within walking distance of where she lived, and many more that could be reached with a car. That seemed excessive to her. She had learned very early on just to smile and nod to things however, and all the while letting other people draw their own conclusions. She didn’t invite people inside unless she was sure that her magical photos and floo powder were hidden from view, and she kept her purebred kneazles out of sight too. 

Other than those small things, her integration had gone smoothly. 

She still got down to Diagon once a week for her shopping, she still had frequent correspondence with her old friends, she was on friendly enough terms with her neighbours, her job monitoring Harry Potter wasn’t difficult most days, and she only had to babysit him every now and then. 

Arabella did not like babysitting Harry Potter. For a couple of reasons. The first was that she didn’t much like children. Unless they were her own of course. The problem was that as the squib relative that was kept around by her family, she had always been delegated to looking after the underage cousins and grandchildren at family gatherings. It had started as soon as she was found out to be a squib at eleven. Instead of being free to join the others her age and have a conversation with them she was put in charge of the infants and toddlers, because everyone had been under the assumption that she wouldn’t have anything to talk to them about. That had hurt a lot, especially in beginning. Later that turned into frustration, because no matter what she said to the contrary no one took her word for it. Now years had passed, most of those people were dead, but that residual anger remained. The only possible outlets were the children around her. Even Harry, to a lesser degree. 

She tried to keep it in. And she always, always, made sure to never take it too far. She knew that it wasn’t their fault. That wasn’t enough to dissuade her though, especially not from the ones who deserved it. Those children that came by to torment her cats or throw overripe fruit at her house were always chased off with a broom and a shout. If she took a bit too much glee in doing so, well…that wasn’t something she let other people see. Children could often sense it though. They knew when they weren’t welcome. 

Having to look after Harry got on her nerves. She understood why Petunia and Vernon wanted to take time to themselves occasionally, and she also knew that both Petunia and Vernon’s parents were dead. So, they couldn’t hand the children over to the real grandparents. Petunia asking her to babysit had sure been a surprise though. She was grateful that they only gave her one child to look after. That was considerate of them. 

The last reason was that looking after Harry Potter was stressful. Children were curious creatures. They were always off exploring and getting into trouble, and the last thing she needed was for Harry to find something magical. He wasn’t supposed to know about anything magical. Albus had been very clear about that. She had to feed him at some point, and children were always so picky in her experience. She had to keep him clean (bless the Dursleys who hadn’t asked her to babysit before Harry was toilet trained), she had to entertain him, otherwise children got destructive, and she had to keep everything dull enough that he wouldn’t want to come back. She didn’t want him asking his guardians to bring him around regularly. And it was better that he not have any strong memories of her. She was here to watch and observe, not interfere. Albus hadn’t asked her to do that.

Thankfully, she wasn’t called in that often to babysit. It had happened every couple of months from Harry’s third birthday until about six months after his fourth. Then it just stopped. It wasn’t until Harry was six years old that Petunia contacted her again. This time it wasn’t for an afternoon. This time it was for three whole days. 

Arabella had panicked. She didn’t want to look after any child for that long, not even Harry Potter. Refusal wasn’t an option however. Harry Potter had to stay with her if he wasn’t with the Dursleys. That was something Albus had been insistent on. 

Petunia must have seen the look on her face and read it easily. The muggle woman had then reminded her that Harry had school. How could she have forgotten that? Muggles start their schooling much earlier than magical people do, of course Harry is out of the house from 8am to 4pm. All she’d need to do was cook him dinner and unlock the door at the right time. Petunia assured her that Harry makes his own breakfasts and lunches, would do his own laundry, and does his own homework without being told to. 

So, Arabella had agreed to babysit. 

Since then Petunia and her husband went on vacation once a year without their children. Harry stayed with her and Dudley stayed with a friend. It was much easier than what she had expected. Even when the vacations extended from three days to five. Harry was a quiet sort thankfully.

* * *

Harry was once again staying with Mrs Figg while the three Dursleys went on vacation. This time they’d gone to Italy. Harry felt a bit sorry for all the people they would meet and offend along the way. 

He glad that it wasn’t something that happened too often. It had been Petunia who had first asked him if the Dursleys would be allowed to do so about a year and a half after she’d signed that contract with him. Given how well things had turned out since, he had agreed. He was more than capable of looking after himself while they were gone and so had suggested that she take a few days off instead of the one. That way they could visit Vernon’s sister (who had mercifully been kept away from Privet Drive for any length of time greater than an afternoon) and then also stay somewhere else and relax after. 

They had hit a snag with this plan. That snag was named Dudley. He had crowed to everyone in the neighbourhood that he and his parents were going on holiday, and that his cousin Harry was staying home. Alone. 

If it hadn’t been for Dudley’s age making everything he said suspect, that there would have been enough for a call to the police. A six-year-old home alone for three days? Criminal. 

The only other solution was Mrs Figg. 

Mrs Figg did have her uses though. She was very easy to lie to for one. Arabella Figg wasn’t as observant as she believed herself to be. It was a classic case of a person not making the appropriate changes for the shift in culture they had experienced when moving from one place to another. And while the magical communities might be geographically close, it was in fact very different from the non-magical world. Petunia very convincingly told Mrs Figg that Harry attended school and that he would be out of the house for most of the day. She also told her that her son was staying with a friend in London. Mrs Figg believed her quite easily. 

This gave Harry a lot of freedom. 

Petunia also said that he’d handle all the chores except dinner. This kept the amateur spy (as he liked to refer to her) out of his stuff and meant that he didn’t have to eat anything she made if he didn’t want to. Which was good, because unless it was boiled or for the cats, Mrs Figg didn't know how to cook much else. 

Other benefits to staying with Figg included: the use of the mind arts to scan her thoughts and memories, the updates she managed to provide about parts of the wizarding world when he wasn’t in the mood to waste money buying a copy of the Daily Prophet, the lost kneazle whiskers he found lying around the place that did have some ability to conduct magic, and the chance to make use of her floo. 

The floo was very useful because it was unmonitored, curtesy of Albus Dumbledore himself. It wouldn’t do for the ministry of magic to accidently become aware of his movements or that of his informant. That would mean that the wizarding public could find out where the precious Boy-Who-Lived lived, and they could find out the conditions in which he lived. In his previous childhood there would have been outrage. 

The only down side was that he couldn’t come back that way. The risk of Figg catching him was too high, even if it had been a possibility with the protections Dumbledore had put on the floo. People could leave no problem but coming back was only possible if you were on the approved list. Which he obviously wasn’t. 

A thump on the wall next to his bed brought his attention back to the present. It was probably one of those damn cats messing around in the twilight hours. Just to be safe though he extended his senses with magic for a few seconds. 

Yep, a trio of cats were wrestling only an arm’s length from his head. 

It wasn’t that bad he reminded himself. It wasn’t like he slept well at Figg’s place anyway. The traces of Dumbledore’s magic were enough to put him on edge most days. Being around Figg once he figured out her motivations and hatred of small children was enough to do the rest. 

He understood her grudges and frustration. People deciding what was best for without your consent was infuriating, even worse when they kept doing so once you were no longer a child. He had experience with that. He understands that she has issues and has experienced a lot of grief. But so have many others. That was no excuse for turning out the way she had. She was an adult. She could damn well do better than that. 

He looked outside. It was nearly dawn. He may as well get up and start going about his business. 

He walked down to the kitchen and made himself breakfast. There was no need for him to be silent. Mrs Figg could sleep through a plane crash if she so happened to experience one. He ate his food, gave the cats some treats to appease them, and left the house. 

There was no need to lock the door. No one would choose to rob this place over any of the other, more wealthy looking, houses beside it. There were also the cats. They would defend the place if necessary. 

He started with a walk, then moved into a jog and a run. There was hardly anyone awake to see him, and he wouldn’t have cared anyway. Personal fitness was important. Not much fun, but important. Being able to run away quickly and endure was more valuable than all the spell knowledge in the world. 

He slowed down as he came across number 12 Privet Drive. He checked inside. There wasn’t a car in the drive way but there looked to be fresh groceries on the kitchen counter. They were back home then. The family that lived there, the Lamberts, spent a lot of time travelling for work reasons. This left their garden rather neglected. Harry liked to take care of it when they were away. The Lamberts were one of the few families that had been just as nice to him this time as last time. He rewarded that by looking after the garden for them. 

With nothing for him to do there he headed back to Figg’s house. It was close to the time he needed to leave the house for “school” but Figg wasn’t even out of bed yet. He showered and changed clothes. Made lunch and packed his bag. The cats pawed at his feet, but he ignored them. 

A glance at the clock showed him that he was running a bit late, but not enough for it to be concerning. 

He left for the library. Mrs Judith had told him last week that they were expecting a new load of books from their supplier. If he got in early he could help label and shelve the books, which would in turn allow have them giving him the first pick of whatever he wanted to borrow.

* * *

Three hours later he was out of the library. The new books had come in, and he had three of them in his backpack. It was going to be a good day. 

“Speaker! I bring you rewarding news!” A voice hissed up at him loudly. 

He looked down to see a magical grass snake was hanging from a fence post by her tail. She was about the length of his arm, and her innate magic made her difficult to spot even though she was against a white fence. 

“Hello mighty hunter,” He hissed at her flatteringly. “What is your news?”

She puffed up happily. 

“I watched the wrinkled-death-breath as you asked me to. She got a pretty from the bloodless ones.”

A fact that not many were aware of: parseltongue is an instinctive language. A much simpler one than English. There were far fewer words in it. When he spoke it before he’d learned about it, then it had sounded just like English to his ears. His magic had translated his words in a way that a snake could understand. But when he heard the language, then it was in the raw form. Parseltongue had no room for names, only descriptions of the one you are referring to. There were no fancy words for “venomous” and “non-venomous”. It was “death-bite” and “safe-bite”. There was no word for “hag”, just “wrinkled-death-breath” as a description. Likewise, “bloodless ones” meant “vampires”. Even with magic helping them, snakes only have a brain of a certain size. They had only one word for each thing, and those words were combined for more complicated things.  
In Knockturn Alley there lived a hag. She often dealt in smuggled goods. Harry had asked this snake to report to him if she got anything he might find interesting. “Pretty” was too vague a term for him to know exactly what it referred to. He would be checking it out regardless. 

He reached and held out his hand. 

“Come with me. I will go see the hag and buy you a treat on the way.” He hissed. She dipped her head, climbed onto his hand, and then made her way up until she was settled around his neck. It was a good thing her venom wasn’t dangerous for humans. 

He walked back to the Dursleys house and unlocked the garage door. He got out Dudley’s bike, took off the training wheels, and found a helmet that fit him quite well. He hesitated a moment before going into the main part of the house and acquiring one of Dudley’s jumpers. It was huge on him of course, and it came down to mid-thigh, but it would keep him and his snake companion warm. He locked everything back up and he set off for Diagon Alley.

* * *

It was a long ride to London when you were a kid. Harry did cheat a bit with magic, but in his defence, it was over 30 miles (roughly 50km) away. He was impressed his snake friend had managed the distance even with her ability to pop small distances, much like a house elf was able to. 

The got into the Leakey Cauldron, and Harry was able to disillusion himself and the bike. The bike, which he left along with the helmet in the short entrance way to Diagon Alley. He removed the disillusionment, tapped the bricks and then calmly walked over to the Magical Menagerie. 

Anywhere you go, if you act like you belong, then chances are people will assume that you do. An unaccompanied seven-year-old would normally draw some raised eyebrows. But a seven-year-old sent off to purchase a few snacks for a pet was a sign of growing maturity. Without his glasses, without an obvious scar (it had faded over time), and by simply being in an unexpected location Harry wasn’t worried about being recognised either. 

There would be no repeat incident of what had happened between him and Dedalus Diggle in his first timeline. 

If anyone tried bowing to him in a shop he would mind charm them immediately. There was no doubt about it. 

Snake chose the mouse she wanted to eat. Harry bought it for her, and then left her to eat it in Flourish and Blotts. She wouldn’t disturb anyone there and she wasn’t likely to be disturbed there. Anyone who saw her would assume that she’d caught that mouse, and probably thank her for it. Mice poop everywhere and are the bane of many librarians’ existence. 

He then slipped into Knockturn Alley. This time the hoodie from Dudley’s jumper was up to help obscure his face. 

The hag he was looking for lived close to an inn that was run by werewolves. It wasn’t close to the entrance area. Far too many curious witches and wizards stuck their heads in there, just to say they had seen Knockturn Alley. The higher end, or more legally dubious stores in truth, were further down the road. This discouraged a lot of people from venturing in. Harry wasn’t so easily discouraged. 

He ignored the pungent odour as he entered the shop. “Death-breath” indeed. 

The walls of the store were yellowed with age, and he could see places in which the wooden support beams were starting to rot. It wasn’t a surprise. Hags caused decay in their surroundings to happen faster than normal. It was unavoidable. 

On a side note however, hags make good alcoholic drinks with their ability to manipulate fermentation. If you like the stronger stuff anyway. 

You had to be careful what you bought in this place. Some of the things were the real deal, others were fake. It was the customers responsibility to not be taken for a fool by buying something worthless or for too high a price. 

Harry looked through the cursed chests. The shards of dragon eggs. The dubious quality of an invisibility cloak. There were focus stones too, some of them were high quality. He wasn’t in need of any though. He kept looking. There was something new here, something valuable. Snake hadn’t disappointed him before. 

A tiny hissing noise caught his attention. He walked towards the counter where the hag sat, giving him an unimpressed look. The hiss came again, this time louder. 

“Hungry.” It said. Harry wouldn’t be able to determine the sex until he saw it. 

The hissing was coming from behind the hag. He looked at her, and it was clear that the hag would not move. Not being in the mood to play mind games with a sentient creature that had a habit of eating small human children, he opened his mouth and called loudly. 

“Come to me pretty one!” He hissed. The hag’s eyes widened, and she sat very still in her seat. 

There was a rustling noise, and then a small reptilian head appeared. Harry felt his jaw drop slightly. Whatever it was he’d been expecting; a feathered serpent was not it. They are extremely rare, and one more than one occasion were thought to have been extinct. This one was a juvenile one too. The little one was small enough to coil in the palm of his hand. 

It, no he, tilted his head before flying over to Harry. He had a dark green head and scales, with his feathers being bright red and a hazel brown. Harry caught him before he overshot his landing, cupping his hands gently to get a better look. He was beautiful. And so very, very rare. Harry had only seen one of them before, and that one had been very old at the time. 

He looked back to the hag. She was watching him nervously. As she should be. Smuggling a critically endangered species into this country was a crime punishable by up to 20 years in Azkaban. As a hag, she would definitely be facing 20 years if she was caught. The justice system was very biased towards non-humans. 

“10 galleons and I’ll take him and tell no one,” He told her firmly. 

“12?” She asked optimistically. 

“10.” He answered giving her an amused look. “I’ve bought from you before, and I’ll buy from you again. You’ll get more business out of me eventually,”

“10 it is then good sir.” 

He handed her the money and tucked his new companion into his sleeve. 

Today had turned out amazingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really try to provide reasons for why my characters act the way they act. Mrs Figg is a squib, but she’s also part of the Order of the Phoenix. It’s safe to say that she never lost her connection to the magical world then; that her family never disowned her. I then thought about how a magical family would treat a squib member. I figured that if even the Weasley family was uncertain around squib family members that other magical families were likely to be no better. So, I concocted a background for her which helped to create the out of touch but angry woman she is in my story. 
> 
> Magical creatures using their powers of decay to make alcohol. Priceless. 
> 
> The feathered serpent is inspired by the Aztec’s Quetzalcoatl. Just as a magical species though, not an actual deity. I needed more parseltongue.


	12. N is for Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me. Have a chapter with Harry doing what he wants and talking about his new friends. Sorry it's short, but I'm very busy today.

Harry had been meaning to get his ears pierced for quite some time now. He’d had it done in his past life and he had always been partial to how it looked. Not just the ear lobes but on other parts of the ears too. If done right, and if the person wearing them had chosen their jewellery well, then Harry thought it looked damn good. 

The problem was he’d need permission from an adult to get his ears pierced, and it was unlikely that anyone would be willing to put something through any cartilage in someone who looked to be a child. Also, the Dursleys wouldn’t agree to it and the only way to persuade them would be with threats or some clever uses of spells. Their relationship was finally at a point where it was close to amicable; he didn’t want to ruin it. 

Which was a shame because he wanted his ears pierced badly. 

Finally, he cracked it shortly before his eighth birthday. It was his body, and no one living had the right to try and control how he took care of it. The Dursleys had never parented him in this life or the past. The Deacons family and the Burnell family (two of the families he was friendliest with thanks to dance classes and then an Easter celebration he’d been invited to) had made some amusing attempts to look after him. The adults were observant enough to figure that something was up with the way the Dursleys raised and treated him. They had at various points made efforts to get him to reveal what the Dursleys were doing to him or to help him. The first was something that he did his best to shut down. The Dursleys were hardly kind, but he had them on a leash. In his last life perhaps, it would have been useful, but Petunia and Vernon had managed to keep him isolated then. In terms of the latter, they tended to go big on presents for him, and always tried to buy practical things. They bought him CDs and tapes of the music that he liked. Books on subjects he was interested in. When they found out that he “liked gemstones” they bought him some of the ones he wanted. He felt that he was maybe taking advantage of them but reminded himself that both families were very well off and only got more insistent when he tried to turn them down. 

He was also close to them. Much closer than he was to anyone else. 

Annabelle and her brother Jack invited him over to their place, or the cinema, or the zoo, or something, at least once a week. Their parents always paid for him to join them when necessary, and he no longer felt awkward at their house. William, Nathan, and Audrey, the Burnell children, were people he had met through the Deacons family. Their father, Dr Burnell, was a renowned surgeon. Harry had the strong suspicion that Mr Deacons had asked his friend to make sure that Harry was as well and uninjured as he always claimed to be the first time they met. Their mother, Professor Burnell, was a literature professor at a nearby university. Harry always referred to her as “Professor Burnell”. She insisted that he didn’t have to do that, but he had simply said that if her husband could correct people on his title and be respected for it, then she should have the same privilege. 

The Burnell parents reminded him quite a bit of Hermione Granger. Highly observant and very well read. Professor Burnell had figured out that he didn’t celebrate Christmas within a few months of meeting him. All from a few things he’d said in passing. He’d been stunned. It had left him not knowing what to do. No one in Surrey was aware of his faith. Nearly all the neighbours were some variant of Christian. Those that weren’t were atheist or kept quiet about what they believed in. The only family he knew that practiced a different faith were the Buddhist Chinese family that lived at number 10 Wisteria Walk. Professor Burnell had only been curious about it though. She’d never had a chance to talk to someone who actively practiced anything like it before and only wanted to ask questions. He had answered very cautiously, but it had been a good discussion regardless. She had also, with his permission, told the rest of the family about it. Which was why the Burnell family gave him gifts for Yule instead of Christmas, and why he prepared extra foods during the celebrations to share with them. They were much more open-minded than the Deacons family. 

Still, no parents, and no family whose opinions mattered to him. He was going to do it himself. He then used a portion of his saved-up money to buy a pair of good quality silver studs and then set about piercing his own ears. 

It was a little more difficult than it looked. 

First, he needed to gather the materials. A sharp sanitized needle. He took one from his sewing kit, dipped it in alcohol and set it alight. Something to stab it into after it had pierced his flesh. An apple chunk would do. Dittany to prevent infection and heal the wound. He’d dip the tip of the needle in the essence of it before he poked a hole in himself. That way it would heal around the needle and leave the hole. 

Second, he would need to run a diagnostic spell to make sure he wouldn’t hit a nerve and mark out where he was putting the needle through. That was easy enough. 

Third, he just needed to do it. All that preparation and it was over in minutes. It only stung a little, and the traces of dittany were enough to stop the bleeding and to grow the first few layers of skin. The stud was a little fiddly, but once it was in he moved straight onto the other ear and repeated the process. 

Hopefully now he’d be able to put off getting further piercings for a few years. 

He wondered briefly how the others were going to react to what he’d done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted another side story if you want to check that out. Next update will be on Monday.


	13. F is for Fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might have just been a joke in the books but given that robes are worn in the wizarding world regardless of gender, it does make sense that wizards wouldn’t understand that dresses are usually just for women. 
> 
> Harry also has no care for societal norms when he can get away with it.

It’s no secret that Harry takes pride in what he makes. Everything from clothes, tools, toys, art, medicine, and food. If he made it himself, he’s proud of it. He was never precious about what he made; what he produced was all made to be used, well except for some of the art pieces. But nothing else of his was made to be seen and not touched. It didn’t matter how pretty something was that he made; it was to be used. Plus making it himself meant he got whatever he wanted. He could have any colour, size, pattern, cut, or material. 

He doesn’t make everything he owns. Somethings are too specialised, like footwear. Other would require him to source materials that aren’t practical. It’s cheaper for him to buy some already made things second hand if they are made from leather or silk for example. Harry spends a lot of time hunting down the best deals he can. Thrift stores, farmers’ markets, out of the way magical districts that don’t cater to the gullible masses the way some places in Diagon Alley do. 

Fashion itself was an interesting business in both the muggle and magical worlds. Why you ask? Because it is the only industry that is so similar in both worlds. Not that magical fashion is like muggle fashion; it couldn’t be further from that. No, fashion was the only industry that followed a similar pattern between both worlds. Namely, that what was trendy changed so rapidly. Year by year, season by season, clothes and styles go in and out of the spotlight. Almost nothing stays constant. In the magical world this is nearly unheard of elsewhere. With such a significantly longer life expectancy and a smaller (often secular) population, things in the magical world tend to change very slowly. Take school textbooks for example. In the muggle world many would say that the textbooks used are getting out of date if they are between five and ten years old and haven’t changed in that time. In the magical world however, it’s quite common for textbooks to remain unchanged for anywhere between 20 and 30 years. 

Fashion was big money. Rich people often spent a lot of money staying at the top of it all, and those closer to and within the middle class have a habit of going to ridiculous lengths trying to keep up. It was still a foreign concept to Harry in many ways. He’d spent the early part of his life living in clothes that were too big and falling apart. Ten years of never fitting in, and always being pushed aside. Then at Hogwarts he’d been put on that ridiculous pedestal. He couldn’t really understand getting hyped up on “fitting in”. That had just never been an option for him. 

To be happy, truly happy, a person needed a few things. One of those was to be themselves. Living a lie is exhausting and damages your own self-worth because you start to believe that no one would like the real you. This isn’t to say that you should ignore the rules, or that you can get away with poor manners. There are times when one must follow a dress code. When one must put on a smile and ignore snide words. But the rest of time? Wear what you want. Do what you want. Clothes should be weather appropriate and adequate to function in whatever it is you’re doing that day. It's as simple as that. Don’t force yourself into heels because it’s expected of you, don’t cut your hair a certain way to fit an expected view, and don’t wear shoulder pads if you don’t like shoulder pads. Some fashion trends are just waiting to die out. 

Harry knows that he has an unusual fashion sense. It is one he built through years of travel, years of war, and years of giving no fucks about societal rules and expectations.   
Unlike your typical muggle Brit, Harry doesn’t care about gendered clothing. He knows he is a man (or boy currently) and he is very comfortable in his own skin. He doesn’t mind wearing dresses and skirts. In fact, he quite likes it during the warmer parts of the year. Harry went to a boarding school for six years of his life. For those ten months of each year he wore robes nearly every day. Robes, which are quite a bit like dresses, are worn in the magical world regardless of gender. Student and staff alike, of all sexes, wore robes most of the time. It was the most popular type of clothing, and part of the uniform. 

Hair length in the magical world is not indicative of gender either. Harry keeps his hair short because it is less of a disadvantage in a fight, and because it requires less maintenance. Not for any other reason. His only consideration for colour is whether it clashes with whatever else he has on, or his own natural colours. Let it be said that bright orange is not a good colour for Harry, but he doesn’t mind pink or purple. Harry doesn’t wear high heels because he considers them impractical, though the one time he did in his old life a rather drunk Hermione told him “they make your ass look fantastic”. 

As for make-up, Harry’s pretty good at that sort of stuff. It started as a way to cover up his iconic scar. Once you learn to apply concealer and foundation though, well, you may as well experiment a little. Lipstick felt and tasted weird, so he only did that twice. Nail polish was nice, but he couldn’t have any of his hands because of the risk of it contaminating or reacting poorly with his potion work. He ended up wearing it on his toes in his old life. During the early days of the war he’d walked in on Luna and Blaise painting each other’s toe nails. Blaise had looked up at him with an “I dare to say something” face but all Harry had done was ask the Italian man if he could join in. It became their little ritual for a while. Whenever they had the time for a moment of normality. He was something he had gotten back into in this life. Eyeliner, eyeshadow and mascara looked good sometimes he thought, but applying it himself in his old life meant removing his glasses. Which meant he’d be likely to take out his own eye before he was finished applying the stuff. He’d get more of a chance in this life with his near perfect vision. Petunia might have a heart attack. 

To put it simply, Harry had a wizard’s cultural view of gendered clothes, hair styles and colours. Namely, that he didn’t care. Magical people do have gender roles and biases unfortunately, but they aren’t entirely the same as what is experienced in the muggle world. If a witch marries and has children, then it is expected that she wants to stay at home to look after them. Wizards (from notable lines especially) are expected to marry a witch and have at least one child to carry on the name, regardless of the actual preferences or sexual orientations of those involved. There are feminine and masculine branches of magic, and individuals who stray out of what is expected from them are often looked at in confusion. They can face social isolation. It doesn’t get violent though, not like it can in the non-magical world. 

His fashion sense is also different from the typical British wizard though. Harry travelled a lot, and it was only in other regions and countries that he found himself. That he began to piece together not just his clothing preferences, but also his heritage and cultural background. 

For men in the western muggle world, muted colours are considered mature and respectable. Harry got away with ignoring that due to his current physical age. In the magical world people either went with darker colours all the time or chose colours and colour combinations so bright that they were obnoxious. Harry didn’t like any of that. He liked bright and dark colours when combined. It was only during specific celebrations or festivals that he would choose one or the other. Bright primary and secondary colours, bright metallic colours, looked good to him when paired with a dark colour like black or brown. He liked the contrast between the two. The artist in him thought it often made each colour better. 

Harry doesn’t like traditional robes. Especially traditional English robes. Traditional English robes come down close to the ankles. They have long flowing sleeves, are made up of one solid piece of material, and they don’t even have the decency of pockets. These robes are favoured by the Wizengamot. Traditional American robes are a tiny bit shorter in length but come with a stiff high collar and tight-fitting sleeves in a decidedly militaristic fashion. These are favoured by the British Auror department. Traditional Scandinavian robes are some of the thickest and fluffiest robes in the world. On the inside anyway. The outside is strong and tough, to better deal with the harsh environment during winter. They fall to about mid shin and are made that way to make it easier for people to walk across and through snow. They’re only good in extreme temperatures. Traditional Italian robes wrap around a person before being tied, rather just coming from one solid piece of cloth. They look vaguely like what the statues and art from Roman times depicts their people are wearing. They’re a bit too much for normal, everyday life in his opinion. 

Harry likes modern robes. They’re a bit shorter, ranging from just above the knees to mid shin. They are often worn with something underneath. They always have pockets. They tend to be more comfortable; the material softer and very few have those collars that he hates. Only in winter does he favour something warmer and stiffer. Harry happily wears trousers under his robes on occasion, also shorts, or a skirt if he’s wearing an open robe in the summer. He likes clothes which give him options. 

The sneakers that he wears are muggle-made, but boots he gets done in the magical world. He doesn’t mind using non-traditional materials such as nylon and polyester, but he prefers not to. They just aren’t very good at conducting magic. He likes jeans and denim. With holes and handmade patches. He admires people with dyed hair in unnatural colours and piercings. He doesn’t mind tattoos either, although he wouldn’t get one himself. Simply because he can never make up his mind about what to get. 

He was limited currently in Privet Drive. He never left the house in something too scandalous unless he had it under a coat that he would only reveal somewhere else. It wouldn’t be long before he was at Hogwarts though. And by then, he’d really start letting the mask drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna and Blaise scene: I originally had this idea that Luna would sneak over to Harry while he was sleeping, and then Harry would wake up to find her painting his toe nails. Blaise added himself to the idea though, and then I just went with it. 
> 
> Wizarding clothing from around the world: all made up of course, but I hope that my choices here made sense.


	14. G is for Gallery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting news: Harry is making himself an ally in the magical world. He needs some support for when he confronts Dumbledore and he’s looking into ways to help Sirius. 
> 
> Also, I posted a story about the Burnell family. You should check it out if you want to know more about their history with Harry.

Harry waited patiently while sipping his hot chocolate. If the waitress who had served thought it was strange that an eight-year-old had ordered and paid for drink while unaccompanied then she gave no indication. Harry was here to meet someone, and he could admit to himself that he was nervous. He’d never met this man before; not while he was still living anyway, and Harry didn’t know exactly how this was going to go. If word got back to Dumbledore that Harry was fully aware of and interacting with the magical world there was no telling what could happen. Harry could take care of himself of course, but his physical age did leave him vulnerable in some ways. 

He’d sent this man a letter to begin with. Harry knew that him reaching to an adult of his own volition was only recently plausible due to his age. It had taken three drafts before Harry was happy enough with that letter to send it off with an owl he hired. The older wizard had sent him one in response, and since then a few more letters had been exchanged. This was the first time they were meeting face to face. Harry finished his drink. 

The plan was that they would meet at this café and then go to a nearby art gallery. Harry had been wanting to get inside for some time now. He was always looking for inspiration for his own crafts. Underaged boys were regarded with suspicion though, and there was just no way he was getting inside without an adult with him. Which was why he had suggested this location, even though he was fully aware that the other wizard would not be comfortable in such a muggle setting. 

Chimes jangled as someone new came through the door. Harry looked up with interest. The man appeared to be in his late sixties. He stood tall and proud and was exceedingly well dressed; his full-length coat and shiny shoes spoke of old money and breeding. There wasn’t a single hair out of place. Old as he might be there was no denying the fierce intelligence in those grey eyes. Sirius’ grey eyes. Then he definitely was older than he looked. 

The old wizard’s magic was tightly reined in, but Harry who was sensitive to magical auras could pick up on the agitation that was well masked. The muggles too sensed something. Many of them hadn’t taken their eyes off the man. Harry realised that he needed to do something to get the man’s attention and dispel any suspicions from those watching. 

“Grandpa!” He called loudly, a smile on his face that became real after spotting the minute twitch of horror and surprise before the other could cover it up. 

Lord Arcturus Black was a former politician however, and he quickly put an appropriate expression on his face as Harry dashed towards him. 

“Hello Harry. Thank you for waiting for me. Are you ready to go?”

Harry nodded and followed the other wizard out of the café. Once they were a good distance away from it he dialled back the cheerfulness. They came to a stop at a set of lights. He cleared his throat. 

“It’s good to finally meet you in person Lord Black. I’m sorry for the necessity of the ruse back there, but we had many eyes on us at the time,”

Arcturus held out his hand for Harry to take. Somewhat surprised at the gesture, for it suggested that Arcturus saw him as someone closer to an equal than most adults would a child. Or someone who appears to be a child. 

“It was a surprise Harry, but a clever one. It worked very well to divert the attention… I must say I prefer ‘Lord Black’, but I suppose ‘Grandpa’ will do in public.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock. The man knew he was a halfblood but was willing to let him use familial terms even though they were only distantly related. That was more welcoming than he was expecting. Arcturus’ life must have really gone downhill in the last few years to change him to the grouchy old man he remembered. 

“Does this mean that my gifts are…?” He asked, referring to the contents of his letters. 

“Yes. Some of them demonstrate that your Black heritage is strong, much like it was in your father before you. I will explain to you what you need to know.”

* * *

Biases are an inherit flaw in the human mind. Everyone has some, even if they are not aware of them. They are inherited from the society we live in. The views and beliefs of others that are pressed onto us when we are young until they take root and we reach a point where we don’t know where that thinking comes from. It is especially hard to spot when the community you live in as rather insular, and quite literally everyone around you believes the same things to a greater or lesser extent. 

Take the British Magical peoples’ opinions of muggles. Everyone thinks they’re lesser in some ways. Those of a darker inclination will liken muggles to animals. They consider them to be unclean, uneducated, and generally not trustworthy. Those of a lighter drive will consider them to be quaint, a little bit backwards, and something that needs to be protected. Neither of these views is accurate, respectful, or helpful. Even the muggleborn witches and wizards who don’t enter the magical world until they are eleven almost always end up leaving the non-magical world behind. The secrecy that’s enforced begins the process of separation, but pressure from friends and the thoughts of the professors around them is soon enough to do the rest of the job. 

To those who start on the outside and look in, many of the prejudices in the magical world are blindingly obvious. Pureblood supremacy being the most easily labelled. But as Harry had found out when he got older, there was a reason for the belief other than fear. It just wasn’t something that had ever been explained at school or in a public setting because purebloods didn’t trust easily, and some things were expected to be kept confidential. They expected you to know without being told. It didn’t make much sense. 

There is no difference in intellect between purebloods and muggleborns. There is a difference in receiving an introduction to a subject earlier and having access to the family library to learn though. They have an advantage. There are magical libraries around the world that are open to the public, but not any in the UK. The one at Hogwarts was for staff and students only, and the one in the ministry was only for the aurors and unspeakables. The rest of the large book collections were in the hands of the old and wealthy families. There is also no difference in magical power between purebloods and muggleborns. But there is a difference in those who inherit family magic, which can only happen to those with recent magical ancestry. Purebloods and halfbloods in other words. 

Over time magical family lines produce witches and wizards who have specific magical affinities or gifts. Where these traits come from nobody is entirely certain. Some believe it’s from pacts that are forged between these families and deities. Others believe it is just a quirk of magic. Regardless it is real. And when family lines cross with each other those who descend from them can get some strange mixes of these affinities. Family lines can be officially extinct, but a child born generations down a line that intermarried at one point may present with most of the magical gifts belonging to the extinct family. But the full extent of what each family has is considered private information. 

No one wants their enemies to know their family’s strengths and weaknesses after all, so the exact details are kept hidden. 

Harry hadn’t found out about family magics until he was nearly 20 years old. And by then he was faced with a lot of challenges to find out any of the details about his own. 

The was no one was alive who knew his parents or grandparents well enough to give him any answers. The Potter family library had been destroyed a year before his birth. His next option would have been going through the Black library, for he had inherited that through sheer luck, but the Order of the Phoenix had burned the whole thing with Sirius’s permission during his fifth year at Hogwarts. He’d been forced to learn about his powers as the Master of Death to get the answers he so desperately needed for the more common things. 

But even that had been limited. 

There are oaths people can take which are eternally binding. Oaths that nearly everyone took regarding important family secrets and history. It is well known that those who are summoned back into the world of the living can’t keep any information away from their summoner without being oathbound, and necromancy used to be a lot more common. His parents and godfather had only been able to give him the very basics of what gifts he had and where they had come from. 

He’d learned for example, that transfiguration was a typically Black affinity. It was one his father and godfather had shared. It had been a surprising moment to realise that Peter Pettigrew hadn’t been weak (from an academic or magical point of view) or less intelligent than his friends. It was just that James and Sirius were brilliant in that subject, and Remus worked his ass off 24/7 because of how lucky he knew he was to receive an education at all given his lycanthropy. Learning to become an animagus was impressive for any witch or wizard. Doing so at such a young age even more so. Peter was talented. 

Harry didn’t have a gift for transfiguration. He did have a gift for earth magic (a typical Potter trait James had told him the he hadn’t had when he was alive), parsel-magic (a thing he took from Tom Riddle), necromancy (he was descended from the Peverells and a Master of Death), and an affinity for fire magic (a Black trait which Sirius had had). Those traits he had an explanation for. What he didn’t have an explanation for was his affinity for grey magic, warding, and craft. No one had been able to explain those to him. This time would be different though. 

Once he was old enough to conceivably write his own letters and investigate his own matters he’d sent a very polite letter via public owl post to Sirius’s grandfather. He hadn’t mentioned the parsel-magic or the necromancy though. He wasn’t that naïve. Arcturus Black was a stickler for tradition. A conservative pureblood if ever there was one. He was though, dedicated to his family. His heritage and legacy, and the continuation of it. Harry had believed that he could get the man to help him and that there was little chance of Dumbledore finding out about it. 

Harry wanted answers for his affinities. He wanted some assurance that he could keep his distance from Dumbledore. He wanted to improve things for his godfather if possible. And if that all worked out then he wanted access to the Black library.

* * *

The art gallery was soothing for Harry. A good distraction from some of the harder topics at hand. Even Arcturus seemed happy to walk around slowly with him, a quick privacy charm cast from the man’s wand kept their conversation private. Harry noted that he would make visiting this gallery and others a habit. It brought him a sense of peace. 

“Prior to the recent loss in numbers and influence, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black has dominated the magical side of western European countries for the last five centuries. Blacks are a stubborn group of people; talented, driven, and passionate in whatever path they take. That passion has been with us for as long as we’ve been a family.” Arcturus starts his little history lesson. 

“What people have forgotten is before we set our eyes on political and monetary power, what we excelled in most of all was war. This was a deliberate choice of our ancestors. They wanted a challenge,” The man either had excellent abilities in building tension or wasn’t sure how much to tell him. 

“Your affinity for fire comes from the Blacks. It is something you’ll need to learn to control otherwise outbursts of emotions can call your fire forth, much like accidental magic can. It can be very destructive if untamed.”

Harry then recalls first year with Quirrell. The man’s flesh had burned at his touch. That hadn’t all been his mother’s protection as he’d found out years later. Dumbledore had known immediately what it was and where it had come from, which was why he had sealed the ability while Harry had been asleep in the infirmary. Harry had been off balance for days after that but had attributed the whole thing to exhaustion and the injuries he had sustained. He hadn’t known any better. 

The seal had come undone on his 21st birthday. Harry had then spent a month in a hospital getting over the after shocks and learning to control his power. 

“Talent with wards is also a Black trait. Being eager for bloodshed or verbal evisceration makes us many kinds of enemies. Keeping your family safe is made easier if wards come naturally to you. It is in fact, one of the requirements that every Lord Black must be fully capable of manipulating and expanding upon the wards which protect the family homes,”  
“Will you be teaching me?” Harry asked, feeling hopeful. 

“The fire magics most certainly. Not being able to control those will prove dangerous for you and those around you. I don’t have the time or capacity to teach you warding myself unfortunately. I’ll grant you access to the family library instead, and answer any specific questions you have in person,”

“You have my gratitude Lord Black,” That was more than what he had been expecting at their first meeting. 

“Your affinity for earth magics comes from the Potter line. That can encompass the rock and soil itself, be more connected to the ley lines that run around our planet or be related to what grows from the soil. Typically, that gift has manifested in skill with potions and herbology. That is what your ancestors used to make the Potter fortune,”

“It’s not much of a fortune these days from what I’ve heard.” Harry said. James had used a lot of the money he inherited to help fund the Order of the Phoenix and St Mungo’s hospital during the war with Riddle. He didn’t leave Harry destitute by any means, but the money would only last for three or four years after his seventeenth if he didn’t find work. When James had inherited there had been enough money to him and his child(ren) to never have to work a day in their lives. 

“No, but we’ve had two wars in the last century. War is expensive if you don’t know how to utilize it. Historically, the Potters stayed out of conflict and trouble. They were politically neutral for a very long time.”

Harry stilled in surprise. That would certainly explain a few things. Like why only his parents were brought up when Harry asked about the Potters. They couldn’t have their saviour knowing that not all his family had been Light. He then wondered how many of his ancestors had not been sorted into Gryffindor. Probably a lot then. Gryffindors were not known for being neutral. That title went to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. 

“Has no one ever told you that?” Arcturus asked innocently. Harry knew that the man knew exactly why that information wouldn’t have been passed onto him, but he humoured him anyway. It was a good moment for him to show his awareness and opinions. 

“No. The ones I live with have only a limited knowledge of the magical world and what I get from everyone else is Light propaganda. They want me malleable, not independent,”

“So, that’s why you came to me,” The older man mused. 

“I’ve known for a while now that I’m not a light wizard. I have also suspected for a long time that my talents would not be accepted if I announced them. Ironically, perhaps, you were my best bet,” Harry said with a casual air that he definitely didn’t feel. 

They paused in front of a renaissance painting. The silence stretched. Harry tried to focus on the painting in front of him. It was a religious one (unsurprisingly) and the light emanating from the figure (probably representing someone important) looked like a laser beam in his opinion. 

“When you can form and hold a ball of fire in your hand on command, I will make you a son of the House of Black. You’ll be given a bank account with money that none of your guardians will be aware of or have access to. It should be enough to keep you free from further manipulation,”

“You honour me Lord Black,” Was the only response he could think to give. 

“I don’t have much choice Harry. My family is dying out.” Left unsaid was that Arcturus still clung to his blood supremacist views. He would rather not be needing to do this at all.   
“Craft magic is a Potter trait too I believe. One that was better hidden from outsiders,” Arcturus continued after a moment of silence. 

“Really? How exactly does that fit with my fire and earth magics?”

“Very well I suspect. Lord Hephaestus’s life gives a few examples,”

Oh. That did make sense. There are many wizards and witches from the past who ended up depicted as gods and goddesses, angels, demons, and spirits in certain parts of the world. Not all of them, but a great many. Lord Hephaestus is one such example. Also, he’s one of the greatest blacksmiths to ever come out of the magical community. 

“I don’t know the source of your grey magic. You’ll have to look more into your own ancestry to find out. It shouldn’t be too hard if you get your hands on an accurate family tree however, as grey families are rare. Most lean one way or the other. There won’t be many possibilities,”

* * *

They continued through the gallery together. Arcturus gave him the first steps to controlling his fire magic and Harry talked through what topics he’d like to read up on. Somehow Harry ended up talking about his dance classes, then Arcturus brought up tales of the lengths Sirius had gone to as a child to avoid his own dance lessons. There were a few awkward moments. Arcturus hadn’t lied about his prejudice towards muggles and muggleborns, but together they avoided any mention of those topics. Between the two of them they kept things civil, informative, and surprisingly light-hearted. It was helped by the fact that unlike some of the younger Blacks, Arcturus would believe what he would but wouldn’t go to any great (or even small) lengths to act on those beliefs. 

That small difference was enough for Harry to discuss how Sirius’s situation might be changed. 

“I know he’s had problems with dark magic and your political views in the past, but most of that was centred around how much he hated his mother. He never got a trial, was never even interrogated for information on the man he supposedly served, and from the notes my parents left I doubt that he is guilty. He could be your successor. If you get him out and healthy again, it shouldn’t be hard to convince him to leave Dumbledore and his old crowd behind. I would support you in this,”

Left unvoiced was that Harry didn’t care to become Lord Black a second time. He also thought, beyond the desire to help Sirius out, that having the man out would cause Dumbledore and his ilk no end of headaches and trouble. It would distract them for years to come.


	15. I is for Illustrating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm… I’m not happy with this chapter, but I decided to post it anyway. I just kept rewriting it over and over again, and it wasn’t getting any better. Still, I’m happy with how this story is turning out overall.

When he was in the mood for it, Harry was surprisingly good at drawing detailed and technical images. For example, the plants he’d drawn in his own herbology book. He did drawings of the whole plant, as well as focussed ones on individual parts. The flowers, the leaves, the roots, and the seeds. Or whatever was needed. The images were clear enough that the correct plants could be identified based on the pictures that he drew. He was quite proud of that. 

He could also draw perfect circles. Intricate Celtic knots. The symbols and runes needed for rituals. If he drew out what he was going to carve onto stone or wood, then it was used as a guide to his carvings. His drawings were clear and easy to follow, if a little 2 dimensional and plain. 

What he wasn’t so good at was people and landscapes. There was usually so much he wanted to capture in there that he lost sight of the original goal. A single plant was easy. He could study one for hours. But a whole bed of roses was a pain to work with. He just had this bad habit of losing interest with in it. It was a habit he wanted to correct. 

His first breathing subject that he drew was his feathered serpent friend, who he had named Gemini in English. Gemini, or Gem as he liked to be known, was a good first subject. He sat still enough for Harry to take his time getting his likeness right. He was also vain enough that if Harry did a poor job then Gem would complain. Loudly and often. It helped to keep Harry on task. 

After that he moved onto human subjects. He would find a good place to sit in a park, or somewhere public and draw people as they passed him. He had to be quick with these drawings, but that was the point. He often got bogged down on the details. So, by forcing himself to keep it quick then he could only draw the key points. 

He got better with practice for a while, but then he stagnated. He just didn’t know where to go from there. He wasn’t looking to become a professional artist, but if he had an idea in his head he wanted to be confident that he could produce it to a standard that he was happy with. 

Then he found himself a teacher. Or, maybe not a teacher so much as a mentor. There was a woman living on Privet Drive who happened to be an art teacher. Now granted, she taught at a primary school level, and she was also limited in how much time she could give him. But after an hour or two, here and there, there was a dramatic improvement in his sketches and final works. 

Gem ended up developing an interest in art along the way. Harry wasn’t if that was a product of spending so much time around humans, or whether it was due to Gem becoming his familiar in a ceremony that had him sharing his magic with the young serpent, or if it was something that was always going to happen. It could even be a combination of those things. 

Never the less Gem took to using his tail to paint. He could hold a brush or a pencil in his mouth, but then he struggled to keep the angle and pressure consistent. What Harry ended up doing was pulling a paint brush a part, so he had just the brush head and ferrule, which he then attached to a piece of wood he had carved to fit on the end of Gem’s tail. Gem then used this on the small canvases which Harry bought for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quetzalcoatl is also known as the precious twin. So, I named the feathered serpent Gemini (as in the constellation which represents Castor and Pollux) but also gave the nickname Gem. As in gemstone, which are precious and valuable. I thought it was a bit clever. 
> 
> Gem paints with his tail. Cliché perhaps, but cute to imagine.


	16. A is for Assessment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I don’t know anything about conducting academic assessments. I might have pitched the testing level way too high for Harry’s physical age, although in this story he is well above the standard for his age and they know that. I also don’t know if these sorts of assessments would take place in the house that a child lived in. For the sake of this story though, just go along with the fact that there is regular testing to check a home-schooled child’s progress. And that it happens in their own homes. 
> 
> Just a warning: I haven’t spoken or written in French in a couple of years, so I hope I didn’t stuff it up. I haven’t provided an English translation because there's not much said and the meaning behind everything is conveyed through the character’s thoughts. If, however you think I should provide a translation, just leave a comment saying so and I’ll add it at the end.

Harry was walking around his room doing one last check to make sure that it was ready for guest he was about to receive. He had showered earlier, combed his hair, and then dressed very carefully. First impressions are important in this instance. He was wearing a shirt he’d bought. It was brand new, never worn before, plain white with a collar he did not like. His shorts were a sky blue, made from cotton and bought from second-hand. Around his wrists were “friendship” bracelets. In red, green, yellow, and black. 

Most guardians/parents dressed their children up for this. Everyone wanted to make a good impression, so it was better not to overdo it. Hence the shorts and the bracelets. It was unusually warm for May, though summer was just two weeks away. The shorts were the most comfortable option given the heat. The bracelets would hopefully give an impression that he had lots of friends or something, so that they could continue to leave him alone about socializing with his peers. 

This afternoon Harry was going to be assessed by an educator once again to make sure that he was learning at an acceptable rate. It was normal for the time of year, lots of schools conducted exams and assessments in May. 

It did mean that Harry had to clean up his room and remove any signs of magic. Most of the time he ended up being tested in his room, but even when he didn’t he would still be asked to show the stranger his room. Just the standard check for any obvious signs of abuse that they were legally required to do. 

Harry had done this a few times now of course, and it was no longer as stressful as it had been in the beginning. The first time had been the most nerve wracking. Rather than just hand over worksheets and tests the teacher had spent most of the time talking to him, having believed that there was no way a five-year-old could be fully capable of reading and writing. He’d probably shown himself as being too intelligent that time, but in his defence, he’d been beyond frustrated with the woman by the end of the first hour. The second time went well, but Petunia managed to put her foot in her mouth when during the talk she had with the assessor over tea at the end. She had revealed that Harry didn’t have any friends his own age, and rarely associated with any of them. This had drawn a lot of concern from the other woman. 

Harry was still annoyed by that. Where was that concern during his last life when he was actively being neglected and abused? Nowhere that’s where. All he got from teachers were sneers and dismissals. No one had cared about anything that they believed “wasn’t their problem”. 

Third time was nearly perfect. Dance classes had rectified the isolation problem, and photo taken of him and the dance group had been “proudly” shown to that assessor, who was a man that time. 

He made one last sweep of the area. His rug had been rolled up and stored in his trunk, his magical books had been taken off the shelves and out from his drawers and put into his trunk. His magical kitchen had had its runes deactivated. His carving tools, knives, quills, and ink bottles were safely put into a box that was hidden under his socks. The potions ingredients and cooking supplies were in his trunk, along with the charmed decorations he’d had next to his bed. He’d made his bed, tidied his desk, brought in an extra chair, and this morning’s owl delivered newspaper had been hidden underneath his favourite loose floor board. Gem was sleeping up in the attic. 

He was ready for his fourth assessment.

* * *

Martin McDougal quickly adjusted his tie before he rang the doorbell. Every house he visited for assessments was different, and he was always a tad nervous in the beginning. It was hard to know what to expect, and he had seen a lot of extremes. Everything from religious fanatics, to hippies, to people that had more money than they knew what to do with. The children he had assessed had ranged in abilities from the exceptionally gifted, to the average, to the below average. The had come in every colour, shape, and size. Quite a few had behavioural issues or disabilities. 

Number four Privet Drive Surrey was a well-to-do area, a conservative one. Martin wasn’t expecting much of an issue here. The boy he was to meet was named Harry Potter. He was eight turning nine, an orphan at 15 months of age, and he lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. His records had him down as well beyond the average for his age, with some debate over whether he was at a genius level or not. Martin was certain he would know by within the next few hours. 

The door was opened by a blonde woman who looked to be just a few years younger than himself. She had a narrow face with a long neck and pale green eyes. Her dress was a floral one and modest, but well suited to the sweltering heat that they had been experiencing over the last three days. 

“Mrs Dursley, I presume? My name is Martin McDougal and I am here to assess your nephew,” He said and held out his hand which she shook firmly. 

“A pleasure Mr McDougal. Please, come inside. I’ll get you something cold to drink,”

“Thank-you Mrs Dursley,” He said while doing as she has asked. His eyes widened when he saw the place for the first time. 

The inside of number four was immaculate. There was no dust anywhere. Not on the ceiling, or the light fixtures, or on any of the pictures frames which hung on the wall. The floor was also clean, with not a single toy littering the place despite there being two children living in it. He went with the urge to take his shoes off and leave by the door. If he hadn’t he would feel like he was spoiling the cleanliness of the place. 

The kitchen which Mrs Dursley led him to looked like it was straight out of a magazine. The walls and bench spaces were spotless, and all the colours in the room were coordinated. Nothing was out of place, which was both impressive and disturbing. Martin was used to people working hard to make a good impression for his visits. Parents tended to dress well while trying to look casual, the children were usually on their best behaviour if they could manage it. A little extra cleaning was not unusual. But he wasn’t sure if this was “extra cleaning”.

He kept up his smile as he made small talk with his hostess though. Petunia Dursley was a no-nonsense sort of woman. She clearly cared deeply for her family with the way she gushed over her husband and son. She was less open with information on Harry, but quietly mentioned that the boy looked so much like her sister that quite often she didn’t know what to do for him. 

Martin could understand that. Grief was a difficult thing. 

When he was done with his drink Petunia walked over to the stairs and called out for her nephew. 

“Harry, come down please! Mr McDougal is here for you!”

Martin rose to his feet and walked closer. He heard a door opening and closing, and then the patter of small feet. His eyes meet those of the brightest green he could remember. Black hair and sun kissed skin. Harry Potter was of an average height for an eight, nearly nine, year-old boy. He clearly did not have any of the weight issues that his uncle and cousin had, based on the photographs Martin had glimpsed. The formal white shirt but casual shorts and wrist bands got an amused smile. It was nice to see guardians giving their charges just that ounce of freedom and creative expression. 

Harry came down those stairs quickly and greeted him with a polite smile. 

“Hello sir,”

“Good afternoon Harry.” He said before turning his attention back to the boy’s aunt. “Where would you like me to do the assessment Mrs Dursley?”

“Harry’s room will do Mr McDougal. Is it alright if he shows you the way? I’m waiting on a call from a dear friend of mine whose been ill recently,” She explained. 

“That’s fine ma’am,” He looked back at the boy. 

“This way sir.” Harry said as he moved towards the stairs. Martin followed him up and to the right, where they came across the second door which Harry opened for him. 

Entering Harry’s room was like entering another world. It was part of the same house; it had the same ceiling, same floorboards as downstairs, and the window was just like every other in this house. But that was where the similarities ended. 

The walls had colour. Bright colours. The light fixture and lamp on the desk were modern compared to what he had seen in the other rooms. And the furniture was different. It was all wooden and old, but well taken care of. It was enough to make the room feel like it wasn’t truly a part of Privet Drive. His only criticism was that it was a bit small. The bed, desk, wardrobe, and toy kitchen (which was strange) took up most of the space in the room. 

The rest of the house that he had seen looked like it could belong to a show house. Ready for people to walk through and decide whether they might want to live in a house like it. It was flawless but impersonal. In the kitchen, hallway, and lounge room at least. He imagined that the other bedrooms were personalised. 

Still, it showed clearly that Harry was loved by his family. Even if they were a little unsure of how to show it. 

“Take a seat Harry,” 

Martin sat down on the empty chair and opened his briefcase. 

“Now, I know you’ve done this before, but just in case I’m going to remind you how this works. In the green folder I have two writing tasks. One of them is for creative writing and the other is for persuasive. They are both clearly marked as to which is which and you can do them in any order you want. You will have up to half an hour for each. I have lined paper here if you want to use that, or you can use your own. The yellow folder contains math tests. They are one page each, marked A-F. “A” being the easiest, and “F” being the hardest. You will start on test A and work through them in ascending order, until you don’t know the answers or finish them all. You will have 40 minutes for that section. The red folder has a booklet with reading comprehension questions. Work from the start of the book until you can’t go any further or you finish it. You have 40 minutes for that section. You can ask me questions if you don’t understand something, but I can’t do the work for you. You aren’t allowed a dictionary, a thesaurus, or a calculator for these tests. Do understand what you have to do?”

“Yes sir,” The boy answered immediately. 

“Then you may begin once I start the timer.” He said, pulling out the timer from his briefcase and setting on the desk. Harry opened his pencil case and got started on the mathematical section. 

Martin sat back in his chair and felt his eyes wander around the room. He couldn’t help it; the room was fascinating. Like something an old eccentric professor might have in his office. 

“You may stand up and look around sir if you want to. I don’t mind,” Harry’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. 

“That’s very kind of you Harry, thank you, I will.” He was thrown by the boy’s words, there was no doubt. But the chance to satisfy his curiosity was not one he was going to ignore.

He started with the shelves above the desk Harry was working on. There were two rows, both set at a height that was perfect for Harry’s size. They were mostly filled with books, but there were a few stones either helping to keep the books in place or having been mounted onto a little display. The books were all hard copy and non-fiction. If there was an order to the way they were arranged, then Martin couldn’t see it. What was clear though was that these books were all in top condition. None of the spines were bent, none of the pages torn or damaged, and there weren’t any stains. The topics covered ranged from natural sciences, to history, to mathematics, to the arts, and to other sciences. Only some of the books were in English. 

“Tu parles français?” He asked, speaking the only additional language he was familiar with that was also on that wall. 

“Oui monsieur. J’apprends depuis trois ans,” Harry answered confidently. For only three years of learning his pronunciation was good. 

“Et italien?” Martin then checked, spotting an astronomy text written in that language. 

“Oui monsieur. Depuis avant le français,” Harry answered him, still in the language he addressed him in. Not that Martin thought he was lying about speaking Italian. 

“Et gallois?” At least Martin thought the book he had spotted was written in Welsh. He was regrettably not very familiar with that language. 

“Un peu monsieur. Ma famille venait du pays de galles, mais c’était il y a longtemps,” 

That was interesting. Petunia hadn’t mentioned it, but then again, she had only talked about her husband’s side of the family. There had been no mention of her family origins or, he supposed, Harry’s father’s ancestry. Either of them could have come from Wales. And it made sense that Harry would try to connect to his heritage in every manner that he could. 

“D’accord. Continuer.” He didn’t want to distract Harry any further. 

All the books were kept upright and stable thanks to some solid stone bookends. The stone was some sort of crystal, though Martin didn’t know what type. It was a polished red and brown colour, with traces of white and clear gemstone. Each were large and looked to be quite heavy. 

In the spaces not occupied by books there were three sizable gemstones on display. They were seated on their own wooden dish, of sorts, and in front of them was a laminated label. He recognized the one labelled “emerald” straight away, despite it being uncut and unpolished. The other two were more obscure. There was a black stone called “onyx”, and unlike the emerald it was polished completely smooth. The last stone was made of reds and yellows, with little green and white spots. The bottom half was polished smooth, but the top half was left in its natural state. It was called “jasper”. 

He stepped away from the desk and walked over towards the toy kitchen. It was an unusual thing to have, seeing as it took up quite of bit of the already limited space. Martin wasn’t sure why they had it in the first place. There weren’t any young girls living in this house. Perhaps there were some girl cousins. Though, Harry was clearly using it as a bench top. There were four potted plants occupying the space. They all looked to be thriving. Above this there was another shelf that held a framed mirror, and two jars that had seedlings that had recently sprouted in them. 

Martin continued around the room and had to stop and stare at the new wall he was looking at. When he had first entered the room he had only seen two of the walls. The ocean blue one with white and bronze swirls that was behind the desk, kitchen, and wardrobe, and the yellow honeycomb one that had the window in it. He had assumed that all the walls were like this then. With a simple pattern painted onto the walls. This side was different. The golden dragon breathing bright red fire onto the otherwise grey wall was much more intricate than anything else he had seen. In the absence of gold, the grey worked to create shadows and depth, and the red was used on parts of the dragon and ground, to show where the light was being reflected. It was fantastical. 

The shelves on this wall, all three of them, held a variety of things. There were some toys. Little plastic soldiers in one area, a lopsided teddy bear in another. There were many little figurines carved from wood and from stone, some of which had been painted. There were little elephants, toads, horses, goats, dogs, owls, and cats. Art supplies took up a lot of space. Containers of pencils, paints, brushes, and charcoal sticks were just some of the things that he could see. Dotting the space was a few framed artworks. There was a painted sunset, a hummingbird, a sketch of a remarkably life-like centaur, and a charcoal rendition of a sea star. He wondered where they had been bought from. 

Just passed the door was the forest side of the room as Martin chose to think of it. Much like the dragon side, the picture depicted here was a lot more detailed than the blue or yellow sides. Painting the sky black, save for the silver moon and stars was an interesting choice. With the green backdrop of the forest and cliff face it was unnerving in a way. Many people might interpret it as scary. Not really the sort of thing you want to fall asleep next to. A closer examination revealed that the wolf howling at the moon was not the only animal in the scene. There was also a dog and a stag hiding in parts of the forest. 

In the area which the open door had hidden from him before was a photo board. There were quite a few photos on it. Some didn’t have any people in them, like the one of a beach, or the one of a park. Others had lots of people. There was one that stood out and had nearly 30 people in it. Judging by what the children were wearing it had to be a dance class. There were photos of a brunette girl and what must be her younger brother. They appeared in a lot of photos with Harry. There were also a blonde set of twins that often showed up, along with a much older boy. Sometimes both groups of children were together, sometimes Harry appeared with a mix of them and an adult (who was related to some of them). There was even a baby picture of Harry and his cousin up near the back, and a more recent one of them together at a park playing soccer. 

Above the bed was another shelf. It had books on it, although they were stacked on their sides and there was far fewer of them. He picked one of them up for a closer look. They were fictional works. The rest of the shelf was bare. 

The last wall was the yellow wall with the window that looked out onto the street. In front of the window was a set blinds which could come down to block out all the light and a pair of curtains. Looking closer he realised that the orange curtains were sheer, so that if Harry wanted he could still have some light coming through will also granting himself privacy. On the left part of the wall was more shelving. They held flowers. Pressed ones glued onto cards and fresh ones in vases. The was also an hourglass at the edge. 

Martin turned his gaze back to the boy he was here to assess. Harry had completed the mathematical section and was nearly done with the reading comprehension work. Harry was clearly very bright. Fluent in three languages and learning a forth. Interested in science, art, and history. It was no wonder his guardians had chosen to keep him out of school. The mainstream educational system would have too restrictive for him, and while the Dursleys were not lacking for money, they probably can’t afford to send him to an elite school. Not when they were already saving up to try and put their son through an elite high school. 

The only concern was social isolation. Harry’s cousin Dudley was about the same age as him, yet his parents had chosen to send him to a local school rather than teach both boys themselves. It could be that Dudley wasn’t as smart as his cousin, and so his parents want to avoid the struggle of educating both boys together. Whatever the reason, it still left Harry isolated. There were notes on his file that had raised this issue before. 

Harry put down his reading comprehension papers. Martin returned to his set and started marking the finished sections. He would be having another chat with Petunia when this was over.

* * *

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he saw McDougal exit the house. He stripped off his shirt, threw it down into the bottom of the wardrobe, and he fished around in his wardrobe until he found a purple dress that he liked. He slipped it on. 

He glanced over at the window. He debated whether to go over and look for McDougal. Perhaps he could wave at the man to see his reaction? But no, he resisted. As funny as that would be it would ruin the performance he put on for the last few hours. 

“Creator? Are you okay?” A tiny voiced asked. 

Harry turned to see that some of his carvings, his animated ones, had come back to life after the unaware muggle had left. It was the horse figure who had spoken. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just frustrated,”

“About what?” The cat asked, curious as ever. 

“Having to deal with that man. He was really narrowminded and arrogant. You should feel lucky that you didn’t take a look inside his head. It was like a shoe box,” Harry rolled onto his back again. He gathered his thoughts for a moment before elaborating for his audience. “He was supportive of the idea of granting children creative freedom and room to express themselves, but in actual practice he didn’t want to listen to anything I had to say. He wanted only minimal words with me, but long conversations with Petunia. He was condescending and dismissive, and worst of all he didn’t recognise his own behaviours as such. He never even entertained the idea that the artwork and carvings in this place were things I made, and not things that had been bought for me. And you lot already know how I feel about gender roles and gender norms. McDougal was so baffled by why a boy would have a toy kitchen. Idiot.”

There were a few minutes of silence before it was interrupted by a different, but no less small voice. 

“You should go and see Henry and Isaac this afternoon Creator. They always make you feel better,”

“Hmm. That is a good idea,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wikipedia told me that being home-schooled is often referred to as receiving a home education in the UK. Hence why I used that term.
> 
> Harry pulled a power move by granting an adult permission to get up and look around his room. Not that Martin picked up on that fact. Harry is a master of appearing innocent. 
> 
> Henry and Isaac are from the Brooks family. I have a side story about them if you want to check that out.


	17. C is for Carving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s an explanation for the talking figures from the last chapter as well as some more information on other types of magic.

Carving on wood and stone is an ancient art, particularly in the magical world. Ancient magical people discovered that if they carved the spell they were casting into something that wouldn’t break down quickly, then they could have that spell tied to that location for years to come. It didn’t always bring good results. They didn’t realise in the beginning that you must make your meaning clear when you carve spells. Using a common language is risky, because meanings change and how each person interprets those meanings can differ. It is what caused Atlantis to sink into the ocean as a matter of fact. 

Nowadays people only use dead languages in carved spells and runic magics. It is safer that way; the words and their meanings are static. There is less variation in their interpretation. Less things that can go wrong so long as the castor or castors have a good understanding of the language that they are using. 

Harry had practiced for years to become consistently good at carving. He recognised now that some of his was inherited, but that hadn’t allowed for him to slack off and do nothing. The practical uses for his skills had been worth it after they were honed. Using the wood on his door and window he had anchored the protective wards around his bedroom. Getting his kitchen set to work had involved both carving and painting a variety of small runes. He did other kinds of magic with his carving though. 

Harry’s favourite bit of magic was called blind carving. It was a rare form of magic where the user got their materials and tools, laid them out, closed their eyes, opened themselves to the magic of the planet and stars, and then carved without being aware of what it is they’re making until they open their eyes at the end and look at what they have made. It can be exhausting at the end because the user isn’t truly aware of the passage of time. The things that are made though, they’re beautiful. Often unlike anything else ever seen before. 

He made sure to do a blind carving every year on Lughnasa. It was after all not just the celebration of the first harvest but also a day to practice your craft or possibly learn a new one. Many magical communities had their first big fairs and markets on it. Those that didn’t had them in the days that followed. 

Arcturus had managed to sneak him off to Spain for one such market during Lughnasa last year, and he had been making plans to take Harry to Germany this year. 

Sometimes Harry deliberately made things. Toys mostly, sometimes pendants or money boxes. If he was attached enough to something to keep it then he often took the time to animate it. Animation through runic magic was tricky but well worth it as far as he was concerned. Objects animated through runes tended to be smarter than their wand-made counterparts, and with widely different personalities. 

The things he didn’t keep he sold. There was a pawn shop nearby that gave him good deals. He even noticed a few of the local kids with things he’d made and sold. They were very popular with some of the local families. The things he sold were never intended to carry any magic. He didn’t write on them in any form or get his blood on them. Sometimes though, sometimes he wasn’t careful. He was a wizard, and a powerful one. Magic just about leaked into everything he touched if he forgot himself. It only got worse if he started to sing or hum as he worked. Luckily, magic is intent-based and he’s nearly always in a good mood when he makes something. So, if he does start singing under his breath, and then some of his magic responds to that, then all it does is leave some sort of good-luck charm on the item. 

It would be a different story if he were ever angry or scared while he was worked. Curses are much harder to unravel if they're not made with a wand or with a specific incantation. 

Song magic is probably older than carving magic, but it isn’t as predictable. It hasn’t been studied anywhere near to the extent that other forms of magic have been. The words sung, the tune used, it doesn’t affect what is produced. Instead it is the emotion behind of the person or people singing that directs the magic. It makes it difficult to test and there aren’t any European magical schools that teach any classes on it. You have to go to a magical school in Australia, Africa, or South America for song magic to appear as a core class. 

Lullabies are the only common example of song magic used in the UK. Not that many people know them for what they are. They just know that it is soothing to children and repeat them the way their parents did for them when they were young children themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be on Monday. If you want to read more, just check out the side stories for this series.


	18. J is for Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry getting even with people in a variety of creative ways. Warning: rude language.

Harry knows that he has a unique definition of justice. He wasn’t the kind of person to go to others to solve his problems most of the time, he didn’t trust systems to just work in the right way and he also didn’t really trust people that much. No doubt it was in part due to his first childhood, the wars that followed, and the annihilation of a good portion of life on Earth in his later years. Mass extinction doesn’t lend itself to optimism. 

He was aware of his failings though. That was why he knew he’d never sign up to be an auror or work in the judicial or law-making areas of the government. He had a plan to save the world that didn’t necessitate him being in charge thankfully. 

Not that he thought any one person could save the world anyway. It didn’t matter who you were; anything on that sort of scale needed a team. 

Harry clicked his tongue in annoyance. He was getting ahead of himself. He had to focus on the now. Living in Little Whinging might have sounded like the easy part of his plan, but it had proven more difficult than he had expected. He had forgotten what it was like to live so close to so many other people. Not to mention some of his instincts and habits which he had developed to survive were hard to turn off. 

Case in point he knew all the names, occupations, religious beliefs, and addresses of people who lived on Privet Drive. He knew nearly the same for everyone on Wisteria Walk too. There were also a few people on Church Road and Magnolia Crescent who he had that information written down for. Just those more likely to associate with the Dursleys or who he had gone to school with in the past. Now that, he acknowledged was a sign of paranoia. 

He was getting better with that. Slowly. He helped himself by undertaking little “missions” occasionally. Recon missions to sooth his anxiety and vengeance missions to satisfy his “saving people thing” as Hermione had once called. It had become a bit warped over the years, but it was still there.

* * *

Take for example Petunia and Vernon Dursley. Harry might have an “agreement” with them that kept the status quo, but there was no denying that without it they would do everything in their power to hurt him. Everything that they could get away with anyhow. They cared too much about their appearances and reputation to risk having the police called in to deal with them. 

The adult Dursleys could be summed up as all round unpleasant individuals who are obsessed with being normal, who want to keep their reputation golden, and are keen to spread bigotry and impose their views on the world. They are also held back by their views on who they are as thy believed themselves to be good people, and good people did not cause trouble. It was a cycle that fed itself. They couldn’t think of themselves as model citizens if they were thrown in prison or sneered at by other conservatives. Unless those conservatives also happened to be highly religious of course, because the Dursleys didn’t believe in religion. They considered it as nonsensical as magic, although that part was something they never told anyone out loud. Outwardly Vernon declared that religion was for the weak minded, and Petunia argued that it was all a scam to take money from good, hard-working people. 

Harry found that part quite funny. The Dursleys (as he had found out in his adult years) had been convinced that he was the cause for why they struggled to fit into the neighbourhood as seamlessly as they wanted to. Once he was old enough though he had realised that it was Vernon’s stark views against any form of religion that had isolated the Dursleys at Privet Drive. Vernon saw magic and religion as one and the same and couldn’t understand why any rational person would believe in something that couldn’t be proven. Petunia went along with her husband in this, but she at least was much less vocal about her opinions. Vernon would loudly proclaim them to anyone who would listen. And in the mostly Christian area of Surrey that wasn’t well received. It probably wouldn’t be received well anywhere in England actually. Religion is popular. It was somewhat surprising that two of Dudley’s friends, Dennis and Gordon, belonged to atheist families. 

Even with the contract Harry had between him and the adult Dursleys which limited what he could do to them there were still plenty of ways he could punish them. 

His first acts of retribution came after Vernon’s older sister Marge came over to celebrate Dudley’s birthday. She was her typical self. Loud, obnoxious, hateful, and these traits only grew the more she drank. Marge was one of the most bigoted people he had ever met. She out performed even the most bigoted of Death Eaters he had had the pleasure of meeting. Mostly it was just words, but she could at times get physical. Unlike in the past though, Harry wasn’t prepared to just take it. 

When she hit him with her walking stick as he was walking passed his magic reacted and caused a long crack to form in the wood. He’d then made eye-contact with Vernon and smiled in warning. 

When her dog Ripper snapped and growled at him he’d growled back. He had flared his magical aura though, so while the muggles hadn’t noticed anything Ripper had picked up on the fact. The dog avoided him like the plague after that. Which was good because Harry didn’t like hurting animals. 

He’d snapped though when, after a few too many drinks, Marge started talking about his parents. Harry knew that James and Lily had been flawed. He’d seen the bully his father had been throughout his teenage years, and while it was nice to think that he had grown out of it or that he would’ve grown out of it, the fact was he’d died bloody young. He’d never gotten the chance to prove himself. Lily, was hard for him. She’d been the parent he’d known the least about for the longest time. Plenty of insults had been thrown his way about her, but they’d only ever focused on her blood status. It was like they couldn’t think of any other possible flaws to throw insults about. He knew now that she held onto grudges just as much as her sister did. But like his father she’d never really had the time to grow beyond that. They’d both died just a bit older than Fred had after all. 

Not that Marge was talking about these flaws of course. Marge had in fact never met either of his parents. She just liked to poke at him and make him miserable. It was a power thing. 

So, in a move too fast for her to follow he swiped her wine glass from her hand and emptied it into her face. While she was spluttering, too shocked to move just yet, he’d turned to Petunia and Vernon. 

“You keep her leashed, or the next time she calls my mother a whore I’m calling the police.” He’d spoken firmly. He’d then left the table and gone up to his room. 

Just the threat of the police was enough to spur them both into action. A call to the police would bring a squad car around, which would attract attention, and when the police came Marge would open her mouth and probably get herself arrested. She had opinions on the police, opinions she wouldn’t censor because of her inhibited state. This would create even more of a spectacle and it would utterly ruin their reputation. More than Harry’s moments of flaunting societal expectations ever would. 

Marge no longer stayed at Privet Drive over night. Petunia also warned him in advance when she was coming so that he could be out of the house and as far away from her as he physically could. 

Some of the retribution he undertakes is far pettier in nature. He doesn’t care. There are worse ways he could be channelling that energy. 

He mixes Petunia’s red dress with Vernon’s white shirts. They come out pink. Unlike in that Simpson’s episode that won’t air until 1991 however, Vernon’s masculinity is far too fragile for him to wear a pink shirt and still consider himself a man. There’s an emergency shopping trip to get him more white shirts. 

He swaps some mail between number four and number 13. Number 13 is where the Yates family lives. Mr Yates is better known Father Ethan Yates. He’s an ordained priest that Harry remembers came to his primary school once to give a talk about the meaning behind Christmas. The mail swapped was the electricity bills. The mess was quickly sorted out by the adults, but not before the other family found out roughly how much time the Dursley family spends in front of their TV. This garnered a lot of attention for how Petunia and Vernon were raising their son. Many of the neighbours disapproved. 

The only time he uses his magic in getting justice is when he used his magic to cause all the flowers in Petunia’s garden to stand up and move out into other gardens where they wouldn’t be noticed. In their place he brought in lilies and petunias. Full grown ones too. The neighbours just complimented her on her beautiful garden while Petunia stood there shocked. She knew that he’d done it although she probably didn’t know why. It was for the blanket.

* * *

When he’d been young, Dudley and his little gang of thugs had been intimidating. If only because they could do pretty much anything to him and no one would do anything to help. It was different now. 

Firstly, because unlike the adults they haven’t done anything bad yet. They were working up to it sure, but it just hadn’t happened so far. So, his approach needed to discourage them from following that path rather than punish them for following it. They could change for the better. Second difference was that he understood them better. With Dudley’s parents being who they were it was honestly surprising that Dudley hadn’t turned out far worse in the end. The other boys also had some issues. Piers’s father was out of the country more often than he was in it. Gordon and Malcolm both had some sort of undiagnosed learning disability that they weren’t getting any help for. Them acting out in class wasn’t entirely their fault. Dennis he knew was extremely anxious and insecure. He would likely need counselling in the future if things didn’t change for him. None of this excused their actions of course, but Harry was more understanding and cautious. 

He was subtle in the beginning. 

When he saw the boys were trying to corner someone, he used a bit of magic to cause some sort of distraction. Like tying shoe laces together, causing someone’s belt to come undone, or having a bird swop in unexpectedly. This usually made the other kids laugh, which discredited the gang, but it also gave the would-be victim a chance to run away.

When the boys loitered at places to yell insults at people, it would start raining in very isolated pockets of space. This only happened on days that had already seen rain or were cloudy. This was England though, so it was fine to use most days. 

When that only helped a bit, he stepped up his game and followed them to school. Their behaviour was pretty much the same as it had been last time. Their targets were a little more diverse without them having centred their attention on him, though he was sure they’d been targeted last time too. The gang was notorious for picking on anyone who was a little bit different. The three Haynes children, Adam, Naomi, and Tyler, were targets probably because our how small each of them was for their age. Dillan Zhou and his younger sister Sally were common targets, being the only Chinese children at the school. John and Alisha, the Gardner twins, were also targets. They’re from the only blatantly mixed racial family in the area, having a Spanish mother and an African-British father. They have an older sister Isabella too, but being four years older than Dudley and his gang she’s too hard of a target for them. Never let it be said that children don’t pick up on racism at an early age. Especially when it's demonstrated by their parents. 

Using his magic, he drew attention to the boys whenever they were doing something wrong. It was a subtle charm, one that only altered perceptions for a few moments, but it was enough to have teachers noticing the poor behaviour. The teachers were aware that the “gang” were a problem group, but they hadn’t been aware of the full extent of it until Harry camped out on the school roof for nearly a fortnight pointing it out to them. Parents were contacted, meetings were held, and some changes were implemented to varying degrees of effectiveness. At least though it had been decided by the teachers that all four boys would be put into separate classes from now on. None of the boys would get their preferences if they only put each other down the way they had in the past. 

The last thing he did was instigate some confrontations. He hadn’t needed to do anything for Piers and Malcolm. Their parents had taken being contacted by the teachers very seriously and they weren’t happy with what they heard. The lecture and grounding Malcolm got from his mother was priceless though. She was furious that he was setting a bad example for his younger sister Stephanie and had really taken it out on his hind. Piers got a similar talk from his father, although it was more along the lines of “I’m disappointed in you” and “If your behaviour and grades don’t pick up I’ll send you to military school when you’re eleven”. That last part was a good idea as far as Harry was concerned. Piers would benefit from some discipline and if Harry remembered correctly he had ended up in the army last time. 

Dennis’s parents were too busy to do much about him. His father is a doctor and the mother a nurse. They both work full time. They were also under the belief that “it was just a phase” and that Dennis would grow out of it all on his own. So, Harry called on Emma and Hazel to give their younger brother a dressing down. Which they did. He would be baking them brownies as a thank you for that later. 

Gordon was a bit like Dudley in some ways. One of the most notable was that he is an only child and that his parents dote on him. Much like Petunia and Vernon, when Eric and Helen Taylor were called in by the school they brushed away the principal’s words and concerns and then went home like normal. They just didn’t care. So, he took matters into his own hands and haunted Gordon’s dreams for a few weeks. Altering dreams was more of an art than a science, but he managed to give him some serious nightmares interspersed with meaningful dreams. Gordon then went up to a teacher in the days that followed complaining about how all the letters on the page moved. He then distanced himself from the gang for a few months. Until he was joined by Malcolm who had asked about Gordon’s dyslexia and why he was getting extra help. A few weeks after that Malcolm was diagnosed with auditory processing disorder. He and Gordon started getting assistance together. 

Dudley, he chose to leave alone. Organising some sort of confrontation with an adult Dudley respected was simply too challenging. Not without violating the contract anyway. Luckily though, without his friends backing him up Dudley calmed down a lot. He still spouted the things his parents said without a thought, but without followers he took no action.

* * *

Dear old Mrs Figg. The amateur spy, paid informant, and squib woman who had unsuccessfully integrated into a muggle neighbourhood. 

She who was grateful for what he and his parents had done, but, hated children too much to do more than tolerate him. On the orders of another man. Orders which she followed to the letter because part of her was aware in the past that he wasn’t being treated well but she hadn’t cared to stop it. The thought made her happy in fact, and she was happy whenever she appeared to make him miserable when he was being “looked after” by her. 

That didn’t mean that he didn’t have uses for her. Uses that didn’t stop him from enacting justice. 

Just to be funny, he only messed with her on Samhain and only through pranks. It was a great idea he realised. It honoured his parents, honoured the marauders, wasn’t potentially dangerous or lethal, and would be harder for someone to trace back to him. 

In 1985 he followed her around with a horse’s skull attached to a white veil. It was based on the Láir Bhán, or white mare that appears in Irish folktales. They usually go away if you feed them but to some they are an omen of death. He used an illusion to make sure that no one else saw it and had his magic animate the skull and cause the whole thing to float and follow her. It wasn’t constant. She would have gotten used to that. No, it just appeared every now and then, and slowly over time it drifted closer and closer to her, before vanishing at midnight from where it had been hovering outside her window. 

In 1986 he made illusions of his parents appear before her after dark. Lily, who stood in a white dress, her red hair hanging free, as she pleaded with an unseen Riddle to take her instead and to spare her child before she was lit up in green light and vanished. James, who appeared in a combination of armour and robes, yelling for Lily to take Harry and run, while he scrambled for his wand. He also disappeared in a flash of green light. He’d wanted to make the sacrifice his parents had made very clear to her. It was easy to read in the newspaper that someone had died. It was harder to see an image of it happen. 

In 1987 he wove an illusion that caused her to hear voices singing. It started out soft in the evening, but as the day ended and the night began the singing got louder and louder. The songs he chose were traditional folk songs. Nothing truly bad, but to someone who either doesn’t speak the language they’re sung in, or who doesn’t know them, then they can appear quite sinister. 

In 1988, the seventh-year anniversary of his parents’ death, Harry got a little more creative. He’d wanted to do something spectacular. Mrs Figg didn’t decorate for Halloween of course. She never wanted to encourage children to come and knock on her door. Her house looked like it could be part of the decoration though, because she didn’t take good care of it. So early that morning of October 31st he snuck over to her house, pulling his trunk that he’d filled in preparation. He decorated for her. Turnip lanterns, skulls and bones, pine cones hanging from string with feathers, pumpkins, statues of cats and crows, and another horse skull with a veil, inanimate this time, and a wreath on her door made from autumn leaves. They were traditional decorations, more closely associated with Samhain rather than Halloween. The muggles wouldn’t recognise it, but she likely would. Her reaction had made his day. 

And this year, in 1989, He’d animated a scarecrow with a pumpkin head to follow her from a distance. He’d filled the pockets of the creation with cat nip and other cat treats. Figg’s cats and kneazles had loved the scarecrow. They’d trailed around behind it, diving into the pockets when it was stationary for too long. All the while Mrs Figg was trying to distance herself from the scarecrow and trying to get her cats to leave it alone. 

Some of the pranks did frighten her, but that fear never lasted long. She usually called on Dumbledore to come and help her, but that decreased as time went by when she realised that most of the pranks didn’t last for more than a day, and after Dumbledore became tired of investigating what she labelled as suspicious or dark activity. Dumbledore had other explanations for these events, some of them more plausible than others. Many of them made Harry laugh.

* * *

There is a family living at number 30 Church Road. They are very much a typical family in the area. Married parents, father works while the mother stays at home, Anglican Christian, with the children. What makes the Pickering family different, is that their youngest daughter Lillian has Down’s syndrome. 

Before Lillian was born there had never been a person with a genetic disorder living in the area. It was very new and shocking for most of the residents. Rumours and misinformation spread like wildfire. 

Kids being kids, and them having parents with generally no compassion or understanding towards this family, bullied her a lot. Her older siblings, Alvin and Martha, did their best to protect their little sister. The adult Pickerings were also protective. But there was only so much they could do about the problem. 

This called for someone to balance the scales a little. 

It took Harry over a month to prepare what he wanted. He knitted gloves, beanies, and scarves for her and her siblings. He carved a whole chess set and board. He made jams which he put into nice jars with labels, he baked breads and cakes and gingerbread men after he found out that they were Lillian’s favourite. He put it all into a large basket with a card and tucked a series of flyers he’d made under one arm. 

He walked around the neighbourhood delivering a flyer to each house on Privet Drive, Wisteria Walk, and the houses closest to the Pickerings on Church Road. They weren’t anything special, just basic information about Down’s syndrome. What causes it and what the symptoms are. It wouldn’t stop people from being dicks, but hopefully those that read it would learn something useful. 

He arrived at number 30 and placed the basket full of goods at the front door. He could hear that there were people inside. He rang the doorbell and then ran away as fast as he could. 

He wasn’t doing this for glory or a reward. He was doing it because he believed that it was the right thing to do. His good deeds didn’t make up for the bad, but they helped him keep more level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily Potter is usually made out as a saint in this fandom. But she had to have had some flaws. So, I made a connection between her and her sister: they both hold grudges equally well. I think it’s a realistic flaw and that it doesn’t detract anything from her sacrifice. In fact, it seems to just make her more human. 
> 
> Feel free to look up the Láir Bhán. It's literally a horse skull and a white veil. It would be creepy if it was following you. 
> 
> I try to bring diversity to my writing. One of my issues with Rowling is that we were promised a lot more than we were given. Race, religion, and gender are important. They are certainly things that we are judged for by other people. For those of you who don’t know dyslexia is a “specific learning disability in reading… trouble with reading comprehension, spelling and writing”. Auditory processing disorder (APD), also known as central auditory processing disorder (CAPD), is a hearing problem that affects about 5% of school-aged children. Kids with this condition can't process what they hear in the same way other kids do because their ears and brain don't fully coordinate”. Down’s syndrome is “a congenital disorder arising from a chromosome defect, causing intellectual impairment and physical abnormalities including short stature and a broad facial profile”. 
> 
> And I know that the ending with Dudley’s gang was too neat but I wanted a mostly happy ending for them. I don’t think I’ve ever read a happy ending for the boys in Dudley’s gang.


	19. L is for Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one explaining what Harry’s been doing as far as his education is concerned. Also, some headcanons about languages and magical education. Enjoy.

A short twenty-minute walk (it was short now that he was taller than when he had started) from number four Privet Drive was the local council’s library. Borrowing books was free, so long as you returned them on time and in roughly the same condition they were in when you took them. Otherwise you would have to pay a fine. Children could borrow as well. Although they needed an adult with them when they were getting their library card. 

Petunia had come with him to get the card when he was four and a half years old. She’d lied for him by claiming that he was five years old. She hadn’t lied about him receiving a home education when explaining to the staff that he would come by the library regularly, and mostly by himself. The librarians hadn’t minded a bit, and then eagerly informed Petunia that they would watch out for her nephew. Harry had managed to keep a straight face only through years of practice. 

He did visit the library often. At least twice a week, every week, for what was now six years. In the library he worked on his academic projects, solved puzzles, relaxed, and read a lot of books. Unlike in his past life he practically devoured books. Mostly non-fiction, but he made sure to read something fantastical at least once a month. It gave him ideas. 

For his other topics he mostly focussed on filling any of the holes in his education. He had never been taught mathematics or science beyond his muggle schooling days. That was something he had to work on fixing. He was fluent in French and Italian. His Latin and Greek on the other hand, he struggled to get by in a conversation. In Magical Europe, those languages (plus English and German of course) are some of the most vital. Beauxbatons and Hogwarts taught in French and English respectively after all, and they are some of the most prominent Magical schools in Europe. Likewise, Latin and Greek are the basis for most spellcasting in Europe. There are other languages used too, but you would struggle to find a magical district in Europe that didn’t have several people fluent in one of those languages mentioned above. Closer to home though, he’d never picked up a dictionary in Welsh before. He’d like to be at least familiar with those languages. Enough that he could pronounce the names in Hogsmeade correctly. Enough that he could read a map. Enough to sing a few songs that recognised his mother’s heritage. He'd known that “Evans” was a typically Welsh name, and with a bit of research he'd confirmed his theory when he traced his mother's line back to her grandfather who had been born and raised in Wales. 

There was a lot of historical, political, and scientific knowledge that he’d never gotten a chance to pick up last time. History is written by the victors of course. So, history books found in English libraries are going to favour them in the ways that they interpret a lot of it. Still it was good to build his knowledge, and to be able to compare what he remembered of magical history with where it overlapped. He did his best to keep an open mind, and to also talk to the librarians about it. Not all of them agreed with what was in the books either. Politics and political systems were something that gave him a headache. But, it wasn’t something that he could get away with not knowing. He had status as a celebrity. People would ask for and value his opinions. They would also try to manipulate him. He couldn’t read up on magical politics at this stage, but he could at least get a feel for muggle politics. Science was always something that had interested him, and it was a shame that in many ways he’d given up on it for so long. Understanding chemistry, biology, and physics, was more important than many realised. They did underpin a lot of magic like potions, charms, and transfiguration. Magic did ruin or defy some of the concepts, but it still provided a lot of understanding for others. Harry felt that a lot of magical children would benefit from knowing more about them. Transfiguration was so much easier when you knew about what was going on underneath. The anatomy of muscles and organs. The skeletons of the animals they were recreating. The way that feathers, fur, scales, and hair grew was important for it to look real. Concepts of surface area, of temperature, and the states of matter did impact potions. 

There were also books on art, architecture, gardening, and music. Finding inspiration was made easy. He could slowly teach himself new skills and techniques. Try art styles he’d never heard of before. Design his ideal home in his spare time. If he really liked a book then he would go and buy a copy, one that he could annotate if he wanted to. 

He became very well-known at the library. All the staff knew him by name, and most of the regulars recognised him too. Plenty of children from the school he’d gone to in a previous life knew him there but had no connection between him and the Dursleys. It was excellent. 

He even managed to speak with a few people who knew the languages he was trying to learn. He didn’t see them often enough for it to be a regular or formal thing, but it was enough for him to improve his accent and practice his conversation skills. He paid them in sweets he made.


	20. P is for Potting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there. Just one more to go. Sorry its short.

Harry knew he had a strong affinity for earth magics, one that he had inherited from his father’s family. It helped in his warding and in his gardening. It was hard to explain, but when he spent time with plants, with nature, either working or just enjoying himself, he felt connected to the planet. It helped him to relax. The magic he put in was returned to him magnified. 

It was the main reason why he celebrated all eight of the wizarding holidays. If he only bothered with the solstices and equinoxes, then he would miss out on the planting celebration and most of the harvesting ones. 

Most of the gardening he did was outside. He did some work in Petunia's garden after she asked him to help her. That was just keeping the place healthy though, he didn't get to add anything new. Petunia was far too wary of him after the lily and petunia incident. Likewise, his care of the Lambert's garden while they were away was just maintenance. Mrs Lambert was rather knowledgeable about plants and he wouldn't be able to get anything passed her keen eyes. That was where the elderly Mrs Kennedy came in. She lived with her adult son and daughter-in-law, and both of them were far too busy to take care of the garden. He had generously offered his assistance, but the stubborn old lady had insisted on paying him for his time. He wouldn't have minded working for free. Mrs Kennedy gave him the freedom to plant whatever he wanted in her garden and to take whatever clippings, flowers, or foods from that he wished. So long as it looked good and wasn't dangerous she didn't care what he did. This gave him opportunities to grow and maintain many of the plants he found useful or needed. Those that couldn’t stay on number seven’s property sometimes made their way to the local park. Knowledge of plants and their uses was faded these days, especially in non-magical circles. He got away with quite a bit because people just didn’t realise what he was doing. 

There were some plants however that he grew inside. Either because they were too delicate to risk being damaged by a passer-by or because he used them often enough that going out to gather more was too time consuming. The plants he kept inside were put into jars or pots, depending on the size of the plant. He kept them well fed and watered, and ensured that they got the right amount of light by rotating which plant rested on the window sill. 

Harry currently grew boom berry, fluxweed, skullcap, and wormwood. And every year on Beltane, he made sure to plant something new before living it on the window sill later that night. With the window open, and his fairy bowl right next to the new plant. 

Fairies are a diverse and complex group which contain quite several different species. There were woodland elves, fae, elemental sprites, and pixies. Elemental sprites come in three types: fire, light, and wind. They are powerful but very rare. Pixies on the other hand, are very common. They are strong for their size and fast, with a penchant for tricks and very little magic. Witches and wizards consider them to be little more than pests. Woodland elves and fae are the ones revered in old tales. Magically powerful and ethically ambiguous. They fae don’t come close to large human settlements and civilisations and woodland elves stay out of the human world most of the time. The one exception being Beltane, because on that night the paths between the human world and theirs are much easier to cross. 

To prevent any harm caused by fairies on the night of Beltane there are two options available to a witch or wizard. First, they can ward their property to keep the fairies away. This is a common solution. The other option is to leave out an offering to appease the fairies, and possibly even convince them to grant a blessing. Harry favours the second option due to his magical strength and affinity for earth magics which grants him some protection from fairy mischief. 

The fairy bowl is made from wood, and Harry carved it himself. Inside he pours cream, honey, and rose petals. Fairies like sweet things. 

When he wakes the morning after the bowl’s contents are always gone. Sometimes the plant beside it looks the same, other times it is much bigger. A sign that a fairy has blessed it. Sometimes he gets even luckier than that. Sometimes he finds small gifts left on the window sill. Little shells, dropped earrings, coins, and other shiny things. These things he likes to turn into jewellery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like that section on fairies? I always like talking about more magical creatures.


	21. O is for Organisation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve made it! And this one is a long one too. 
> 
> I’m giving myself a break after this, but I when I get back I will be focusing on You Always Have A Choice and Harry’s Luck Strikes Again before I start writing about Harry’s Hogwarts experience in this series. Enjoy.

For all that Harry knew Petunia to be a horrid person, never let it be said that he doubted her prowess when it came to the catering and scheduling important events. There was a reason she was put in charge of organising the yearly summer celebration for the combined Privet Drive and Wisteria Walk area. 

The summer celebration was held in a nearby park area. It was a picnic style event were every family that was involved (14 of them from Privet Drive, and 20 from Wisteria Walk (although not everyone showed up each year)) brought along food, drink, a rug to sit on, and possibly a few folding chairs. Petunia organised what each adult person was to bring, to make sure that there was enough for everyone and that there was an equal mix of savoury and sweet. She hired the large shade clothes they hired to protect people from the sun. Organised what day it was happening, and at what time. 

She honestly ran the thing with more precision than most military exercises that Harry had witnessed over his long life. It was oddly terrifying and inspiring at the same time. 

Harry did attend most of these celebrations. If the weather was good enough and he didn’t have something else planned, then he showed up for the food if nothing else. Most of the kids from the area were decent enough. He wasn’t exactly friends with them, but he was friendly. It was too crowded a place for Dudley and his goons (who were less like goons now) to mess things up. 

He also tended to bring Gem along. Hidden in his sleeve in the colder months or pocket during the warmer. The ever-growing feathered serpent now needed two hands to be held comfortably, and he just loved the ambiance of being around large groups of people. Gem was going to love Hogwarts at least. 

Although Harry would have to find a way of protecting the reptile before his eleventh birthday. Hogwarts just wasn’t a safe place, Gem was a very rare breed of snake, and Harry didn’t want to think about what the reactions would be if people found out that Harry Potter ™ had a pet snake. 

“Time to go?” Gem hissed from on top of Harry’s book shelf. 

“Wait.” He replied. Harry grabbed his hat and shoved it on his head. He then held open a pocket. 

“Ready.” He hissed to Gem. The little snake flew over and into the pocket. Gem was a lot better at flying now then he was at the beginning. There was a lot less crashing landing involved.

* * *

Lydia Giannopoulos opened the tupperware containers to set the food on the table. It was a good day for a party. The sun was shining and there was only a faint breeze in the air. Her three children were off and about having fun. 

Her mission for the day was to make sure that everyone got enough food. 

It was not as easy to achieve as it should have been. 

Too many young children only wanted to eat sweets. Too many young women were not eating enough. All over the magazines and television were images of women who were all slim and "perfect". You almost never saw them eating a single bite of food. And all those fashion trends that put skinny and dieting as the top priority for all those girls. 

Lydia hated it. There was nothing good about starving yourself to the point of having no extra fat. No extra fat just meant you got sick easily. But beauty standards and trends were pervasive like that. Once you got something into your head, it was much harder to get it to leave. 

“May I have a slice of the olive bread Mrs Giannopoulos?” She looked over at the bright green eyes which were watching her. She smiled at the boy and cut him a slice. 

“Here you go Harry,” She answered as she passed him the piece. Such a sweet child, that one. He’d been in the same dance class as her daughter Maria for years now and he always had such good manners. 

He was so unlike his cousin Dudley. In looks and behaviour. Petunia needed to do whatever it was that had worked so well on Harry and use it on Dudley. The blond boy’s behaviour had improved over the last few years but there were still a few issues that needed to be worked out. He would certainly need to improve his grades if he wanted to get into a good university when he was older. And while she was against putting children on diets, she did think that Petunia should consider making a few changes for her son.

* * *

Harry sat next to the spinning board and waited for everyone to be ready. Once they were he spun it. 

It landed on right hand yellow. 

“Right hand yellow,” He called and signed clearly to the group. There were groans of despair as everyone had to shift around so that they’re hand reached a yellow circle. 

Playing Twister with the Brooks brothers and Zhou siblings was a lot of fun. Though, it needed to be Harry or Isaac calling the shots currently. Dillan and Sally didn’t yet know BSL enough to be able to sign accurately to Henry. 

Harry spun it again. 

“Right foot blue,”

Sally toppled over with a shriek. Dillan followed her after he lost his balance from laughing so hard.

* * *

Daniella Manning hummed loudly to herself while she tried to tune out the snipping words of her parents behind her. They were being quiet now but that wouldn’t last. Their arguments always ended up in shouting matches. The only good thing was that they never got physical with each other. The downside to the way they handled their problems, whoops, handled? Mishandled. That was the word she was looking for. The only downside to the way they mishandled their problems was that everyone soon found out about it. 

The neighbours hadn’t even been nosy about it. It was just quickly apparent to anyone who lived near them that the adult Mannings would benefit from getting a divorce. 

They wouldn’t get a divorce though. 

They were more worried about how their friends and colleagues would perceive them. More worried about how people would treat them at church. More worried about who would get what, and then how mum would have to find a way to support herself because she hadn’t worked a job since she was 20. More worried about themselves than anyone else around them. 

“Here Dani, I got you an ice-cream,” Her little sister Gabriella’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. 

“Thanks Gabby,” And she took the ice-cream, which had already started to melt, off her sister. Daniella then had to start licking straight away to stop her hands from getting sticky. 

“Are they arguing again?” Her little brother Rufus asked. 

Danielle hated that her seven-year-old brother already considered their parents fighting to be normal. She was starting secondary school this year. Only eleven, and she already felt more mature than the people who were meant to be raising her. 

“Yes,” She answered quietly. 

“Seriously? We’ve been here less than an hour,” Gabriella complained. Rufus looked at her startled. 

“Shush! They’ll hear you,” He hissed at her. “And then we’ll all have to go home,”

“Come on guys, I heard that Mrs Dupont is doing face painting. Let’s go check that out.” Daniella quickly got their attention. It would be best that they have fun while they could.

* * *

Harry relaxed under the shade clothe. Gem moved so that he was close to Harry’s hand but still hidden from view. This meant that Harry could stroke his scales and scratch his chin without the risk of being seen by the other people in the area. 

The party was going well. None of his relatives had bothered him today. Petunia was busy chatting with her two closest friends Zoe Clarke and Helen Taylor, Dennis and Gordon’s mums respectively. They’d finished organising what was going where and ordering their helpers about, and so had retired next to the largest fountain in the park. This had kept them away from the people that Harry had wanted to spend time with. Vernon had found a spot next to the barbecue, so he could drink and talk with the other men. Harry had spotted a few other recognizable faces in that group too. Mr Sutton was there, holding a bear and only looking slightly uncomfortable. It was a credit to his acting skills more than anything else. Eric Taylor was alternating between manning the barbecue and pouring drinks with Mr Crawford. Caleb Polkiss was there too, but interestingly enough his wife was nowhere to be seen. Petunia was probably glad. While Dudley might be good friends with Piers, it wasn’t much of a secret that their mums did not see eye to eye on most things. Maxim Dupont was there, the husband of Harry’s art mentor. The other names and faces he knew roughly because most of them had children he had gone to school with in the past. Most of the men were uninterested in moving from where they were though. Unless it was to join in one of the cricket matches that was going on. 

It was strange to think that he’d be getting his Hogwarts letter soon. He was looking forward to it. His neighbours had been surprised when he revealed to them that he would go to school this year. Even more so when he explained that he would be attending a boarding school in Scotland. Privet Drive had been a safe enough place to grow up. It was boring at times though, even with some of the freedoms he had. Freedoms he would likely miss once he entered the spotlight of the wizarding world. It was time though. He needed new challenges. And Gem was eager to see more of the world. 

Arcturus had been a good support for him, and the two had grown closer over the years. Harry did have a separate bank account that Arcturus routinely put money into. One that was under the name Henry Regulus Black. Henry for his great-grandfather, and Regulus for Sirius’s brother who had defied all odds and expectations in the end. Harry was recognised as a son of the House of Black, although one that wasn’t tied to anyone in terms of guardianship. That hadn’t been necessary, what with Sirius now being free of Azkaban and causing all sorts of trouble for Dumbledore and the Light side with his mere existence. 

As expected of a senior politician, Arcturus had set up and played his role perfectly. It hadn’t been easy to get Sirius a trial. He’d first needed to bring up the issue of Sirius having never received a trial to Madam Bones. At the time of his incarceration Magical Britain had been in a state of emergency. Forgoing the trial was acceptable at the time, but there should have been a follow-up once the state of emergency had ended. The other Death Eaters had received trials like this. Even those caught in the act like Bellatrix Lestrange had been given a full trial six months after Voldemort’s defeat. It hadn’t been hard to get her support though. Ever the Hufflepuff, Madam Bones had a strong sense of justice and fair proceedings. 

Next, he’d contacted his fellow conservatives. The fact that the sole surviving heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had been sent to Azkaban for life without a trial was alarming for those who were used to their name and bloodline grating them a degree of power in magical society. In terms of actual support this had gotten some mixed results. Those who had been Death Eaters were not keen on giving Sirius a trial. Whether that was because they feared he’d name names and reveal incriminating facts, or because they wanted him to suffer for the deaths of the many Death Eaters he’d put in prison or killed, or because they benefited from the House of Black being without a direct heir was unclear. It did cause something of a stir. Whispers started and rumours spread. It was enough to make Minister Fudge nervous. 

That was when Arcturus had approached the man. He’d asked for a trial. Not because he believed his grandson to be innocent (as he’d told Fudge), but because it was the right thing by law and he felt that it was best that Sirius’ full crimes be known to the world. So as to give the families that had been hurt some closure. Fudge had eaten it all up. His approval ratings had been steadily going down for the last two years and a public trial and interrogation of one of Britain’s most notorious mass murderers was sure to make him look good in the papers. When the discussion had arisen in the Wizengamot soon after there had been just enough votes in favour from all sides for the motion to carry through.

Five months ago Sirius’ trial took place. Arcturus had hired the best lawyer he could find, and it had been a resounding success. For Harry and the House of Black. Peter Pettigrew was still at large, and Sirius was still living at a privet hospital. Harry had been exchanging letters with his godfather however, and things were going well. Sirius wasn’t happy to be spending so much time with his grandfather, but he was eager to help Harry and get Dumbledore back for not believing in his innocence. 

“Four years of service Harry. Four years where I put my life on the line and fought under his orders. Four years of sneaking around, of spying, of watching many people that I cared about die, and he didn’t even try to give me a trial! He spoke at Snape’s trial and got him off the hook!” Sirius had written to him in a letter once. The next few lines of text had been angrily crossed out, but Harry thought they conveyed Sirius’ feelings better than any words would have been able.

* * *

Matthew Kennedy raised his tray of sausage rolls up to his head as he side-stepped a pair of blond pre-teen girls who were playing around the desert table. His mother had asked that someone carryout and serve food to the children, as many of them were distracted with their games and were likely to forget to eat. Seeing as his wife had been running around all morning baking Matthew had quickly volunteered. 

It wasn’t a hard job. He had a tray in one hand and a bottle of sauce in the other. It was bringing back memories of time working as a waiter during his university years.  
He spotted a group of children playing some variation of tag around the swing set. He walked over to them. 

“Peter, behind you!” One of the girls called. ‘Peter’ was the one that had a blind fold on. He also appeared to be the girl’s brother. He turned around and tried to catch the boys who had been sneaking up behind him, but they dodged out of the way with a laugh. 

“Almost!” The other girl in the group piped up. She was clearly the youngest in the group and had placed herself behind the tallest of the boys. Said boy then leaned forward and blow into Peter’s face. 

“Aaron you prat! I know that was you!” Peter yelled and lunged forward, but Aaron managed to dodge once more. They were clearly brothers. 

“Sarah and Naomi should stop giving you hints. It makes the game too easy,” The other boy in the group said. 

“Before this game goes any further, would anyone like a sausage roll?” Matthew asked loudly. Their responses answered the question for them. 

The blindfold came of Peter’s head in a flash and as a group they descended on the tray of food. 

“Peter, quit hogging the sauce bottle!”

“You’re too slow Sarah!”

“Adam I can’t reach the tray!”

“Sorry not sorry!”

* * *

Judith Brennan sat with her sister Hester and friends Bernice Kennedy, Elijah and Miriam Stewart, under the large tent which had been set up by Bernice’s son and daughter-in-law. They were much too old to be running around like the children or walking laps like some of the parents were doing. Luckily, they were content to sit and chat together. 

“Did you hear about the Hobbs family?” Miriam asked with a smile. Judith looked at her sister, but Hester only shook her head. 

“No. What’s new?” She asked. 

“They’ve added more fish to their garden pond,” 

“Really? I’m surprised they have room for more,” Hester added with a soft laugh. 

“I’m surprised the fish haven’t started eating each other,” Elijah added in a low voice. That man was always in some sort of a grump. 

“Elijah! Don’t say that now. One of the children might hear and become upset,” Miriam scolded her brother.

* * *

Benjamin Sutton sat back down onto his chair with a relieved sigh and took a bite of his lunch. It had been getting tiring over next to the barbecue with the other men. They were just, uhh. He didn’t have the right words. Exhausting perhaps? Benjamin prided himself on being able to talk to nearly anyone, but he didn’t have much in common with them. Talking to them was like talking to foreigners in a way; their experiences and his felt like they were worlds apart sometimes. It wasn’t always a bad thing. Ben didn’t want to relate to some of those experiences. 

Not even a minute after he’d taken his first bite of his meal Murphy came running over to beg for some. He looked down at his dog. She sat down and lifted up her front paws. She then stuck her tongue out. Damn it. 

“Murphy, you don’t even like pasties. You’ve tried them before remember?” He explained patiently. It didn’t deter her. 

She continued to stare up at him expectantly. Her tail thumped the ground and she cocked her head. Ben sighed, tore off a bit of his meal, and gave it to her. 

“I’m too soft on you,” He muttered. It was fact that was unlikely to ever change. 

Footsteps sounded to his right and he looked over in time to see another man approaching him. Dark hair, blue eyes. A stern face. He’d definitely seen the other man around before. What was his name again? Steven? Patrick? Shit. He’d shaken hands and introduced himself to the guy before. What was his name? 

“Would you like a drink?” The man-who’s-name-he-had-forgotten asked. 

“Sure,” He answered with a smile and accepted the can of beer with a smile. “Thanks… I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name,”

“It’s Ian Morrison.” 

That was what he needed to remember everything. Ian Morrison and his wife had moved into the area about the same time he had. They had a son who attended the local primary school. Two years ago, Mrs Vivienne Morrison had died of cancer. Ian still wore his wedding ring. Benjamin had heard a lot of gossip about people who believed Ian “should move on already”. Benjamin had thought that sort of sentiment was unnecessary and cruel. 

He thought back to the conversation the other men had been having. If he’d been uncomfortable with it, then Ian must have felt much worse. He hadn’t said anything though. 

“Are you doing okay Ian?” He asked sincerely. 

“What do you mean by that?” The man asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“You were standing around the barbecue when the married men started complaining about their wives,” 

Ian was silent for a few moments. 

“I used to do that too,” He then admitted. 

“It’s a cultural thing. Mostly,” Benjamin said, trying to provide some comfort. It wasn’t one that he understood but to many of the people involved it seemed to be habit more than an anything else. 

“It’s an awful one. I only participated because everyone else did. It seemed normal. Now I just think, it’s fucked up that people are okay with talking shit about their partners behind each other’s backs,”

“It is. I can’t imagine marrying someone if I couldn’t get along with them. But if you were to say something like ‘I love my wife and think she’s perfect’ to that group, they’d think you were crazy,”

“…Vivienne was my best friend. Whenever I left on business trips I missed her and Felix terribly. I never told any of my colleagues that though. They would have looked at me strangely. As if wanting to spend time with your partner, time not having sex, was unusual,”

“For some of them it might be,” Benjamin said quietly. 

“Yes, and then they wonder why their marriages don’t work out.” Ian snapped out, voice full of contempt. He must have worked hard to remain neutral back at the barbecue then. Ben was usually good at picking out negative emotions from those around him. 

Benjamin couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. This man was someone he could be friends with. This was a man who saw people and thought about their behaviour. He didn’t look down at women and he took the concept of integrity very seriously. He clearly wouldn’t be raising his son to follow the example of their neighbours. 

“Are you free next weekend?” Benjamin asked suddenly. “I have a dog who loves running around with children and I cook well,” He tacked on at the end a little hastily. 

“Absolutely,”

* * *

Jimmy Lambert smiled as he watched his father carrying all the cricket equipment over to the pitch. The hottest part of the day was over and now it was time to see whether he could get some people involved in a game. 

He looked around. There were two boys close to him in age hanging around the sides. His smile widened when he recognised them both. He ran towards them. 

“Hey John! Noah! Do you want to play cricket with me?”

They both turned to face him. 

“Yeah mate, sure. Is it kids only? Our dad will want to play,” Noah answered. Despite being two years younger than his brother he was more outgoing. Much like Jimmy in a sense.

“Nah, my dad’s playing too. I didn’t know Mr Yates played cricket though,”

“Yeah, he does. He’s a big fan of cricket. He organised a cricket game at church last year to raise money for a hospital,” John piped up.

“Cool,” Jimmy said, not really knowing how to respond to that. 

“Who else is playing?” Noah asked. 

“Uh, I’m still asking people. Harry will probably play-”

“Potter?” Noah interrupted him briefly. 

“Yeah, him. Dillan and Sally Zhou already said yes to playing. Esther Hudson also said yes, and that means her sister will come along too. We can probably get the Crawfords and the Gibsons to join. With them and us, and our dads we’ll have 16 people. That’s enough for a casual game,”

“Who is Ester Hudson? Wait, is she the one with the pet turtles?”

“Yes, she has an older sister named Abigail. They also have a pet cat named Smudge,”

“Alright then. Do you want us to get Potter and the Crawfords for you?”

“Oh yeah. That’ll help speed things up. Thanks guys,”

* * *

Sophie frowned at she poured the icing onto the cupcakes. The last time she’d done this she’d made a big mess. Maman hadn’t been angry at her, but she had been disappointed. And disappointed was worse than angry in some ways. Disappointed meant that Sophie hated herself just a bit. 

“Hi Sophie! Hello Mrs Dupont!” A voice she recognised called out loudly. She finished up the cupcake she was decorating and looked up. Yep, that was her neighbour Harry. He was running towards them. 

“Hi Harry!” She yelled and waved at him. He waved back at her and came to a stop just in front of the art table. 

“Are you here to get your face painted Harry?” Her mum asked. 

Harry hummed but didn’t answer. He was bust looking at the options that had been laid out. There were butterflies, dogs, cats, shooting stars, rainbows, and a variety of superheroes. 

“I can do something different if you want me to,” Her mum added. Harry looked uncertain. 

“I don’t want to put you out Mrs Dupont-”

“-It’s no trouble Harry. What would you like?”

“Could you paint me as a stag please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long one and it incorporated a lot of my minor ocs. You'll find more mentions of them in GM side stories.


End file.
